


The Rescuers

by Delylah



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delylah/pseuds/Delylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Monroe and Connor fail to make it to their rendezvous point after 2x13 "Happy Endings," Charlie returns to New Vegas to find them. She winds up on Duncan's doorstep asking for help to mount a rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever sit down to write, get a thousand words into a story, realize that you have gone off on a tangent and that the middle of your story should actually be the beginning of your story and that part you thought was the beginning might actually be the end (or possibly a different story altogether)? That's what happened here. I think there will be 2 more chapters to this. Maybe 3. Possibly even 4. It just keeps growing. I didn't actually mean to write a rescue!Monroe story. Charlie and Monroe and Duncan are probably OOC. Duncan just kind of took on a personality of her own; I don't know what happened (she decided she liked Charlie because she thought she had guts for pointing a gun in her face, I guess). This will wind up being Charloe 'shippy. So, now you know if this sucks for whatever reason, you were fairly warned.
> 
> Rated M. There's bad language. References to sex. I don't think it will wind up being explicit. Sorry about the talkiness. There will be more action in chapter 2. Or maybe 3. They're still in the planning stage in chapter 2. Most of this is already written, I'm just working on polishing it now.

Charlie had begun to worry when Monroe and Connor hadn't shown up an hour after she'd made it to their rendezvous point. Monroe had taken the precaution of telling her if he and Connor didn't make it back by dawn to take the wagon back to Willoughby.

Charlie, of course, thought that was a stupid idea. When the horizon began to shift from black to dark gray, she began to hike back to town, staying hidden as best as she could. Fortunately, Duncan's trailer was near the outskirts of the tent settlement. There was only one guard on the door, whom Charlie quickly dispatched with a sharp blow to the head from the butt of her pistol. The door wasn't locked, so she let herself in. That there were moans coming from the direction of the bedroom did not deter her in the least, though she swore if she caught Monroe in there, she would kill him. _For making her worry. And that's all_.

The man Duncan was fucking was neither Monroe nor Connor, to Charlie's relief. Unfortunately, the amorous couple had not noticed her presence and Duncan continued riding her lover, to Charlie's embarrassment. She turned her back and leaned against the open door frame, clearing her throat loudly as she rapped loudly on the wall.

"Give us a few minutes, kid, unless you want to join us?" Duncan said, turning back toward Charlie with a flirtatious smirk as Charlie glanced her way. Charlie snapped her head back to the front.

"No thanks, I'm just looking for Monroe," she said, exasperated. She wasn't sure if Duncan was serious or not. She kind of hoped not.

The moans behind her grew louder. Charlie suspected it was because they got off on the thought of her either watching or listening, so she walked back to the tiny kitchen to wait, thankful when the moans trailed off a few minutes later. Not long after, Duncan came wandering through, tying a knot in a black silk robe that barely covered her thighs. She reached into one of the cabinets for a tumbler and pulled a bottle of liquor from another.

"I'm impressed, kid. I kinda figured you were long gone by now, after what happened," Duncan drawled as she poured the amber liquid into the glass. Instead of downing the drink herself, she offered it to Charlie. Charlie ignored it.

"Where's Monroe?" she demanded in her best no-nonsense voice.

"You mean you don't know?" Duncan asked, sounding surprised, and took a swallow from the glass. Charlie just shook her head.

"No. He and Connor never showed up last night after the fight. Have you seen them?" Charlie asked, hoping her worry didn't show. Duncan shot her a mirthless smile.

"Honey, I hate to tell you this, but Gould caught them trying to leave town with his diamonds. He hauled them to his lockup, next to the casino."

"Great. Thanks," Charlie retorted as she went for the door. "I'll just be on my way."

Duncan stepped in front of her.

"Hold up, kid. You can't go there. Gould and his boys know you were involved. They catch you nosing around, and they'll just lock you up, too. And believe me, you do not want that to happen. Pretty little thing like you, Gould is likely to auction you off to the highest bidder."

Charlie blanched, reminded of the men who had intended to gang-rape her. Monroe had saved her life that night, and several times, since. She didn't really feel she owed him, not after everything else he'd done. But she…they…needed him.

"How long will he keep them locked up?" Charlie asked, wondering if she had time to go for help.

"Just til tonight," Duncan said casually, and for a moment Charlie was relieved, but she knew it couldn't be that easy. Monroe said himself if it weren't for bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all.

"What happens tonight?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Tonight the notorious General Sebastian Monroe is appearing in a cage match," Duncan said. "Gould is charging an gram of diamonds to watch. Two grams is the minimum wager. The fight is to the death."

Charlie's heart thudded painfully in her chest, while her stomach clenched into a tight knot.. She already knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask it anyway.

"Who is he fighting?" she said in a small voice.

"Who else? His son."

Charlie's knees failed her and she sank down to sit on one of the shabby chairs at Duncan's tiny kitchen table. When she felt Duncan pushing her head down toward her knees, she realized she had started to see dark spots in front of her eyes. She inhaled deeply several times while Duncan busied herself hunting for another tumbler in the kitchen, into which she poured a finger of the amber colored liquor. She then poured three more fingers into her own glass and took the seat across from Charlie. Once Charlie sat up, Duncan pushed the glass toward her.

"Drink it, kid. It helps."

Charlie obeyed without question, tossing the drink back in one swallow. When she made a face afterwards, Duncan laughed.

"Better?" she asked. Charlie nodded.

"How did you know Connor is his son?" she asked hoarsely.

Instead of answering right away, Duncan took the time to finish her drink, gazing at Charlie through narrowed eyes as if measuring her somehow.

"You know, he told me about you, when he was here before," she said finally.

Charlie raised an eyebrow in disbelief. She couldn't imagine Sebastian Monroe discussing her with anyone, and the thought that he had done so, _with this woman_ , pissed her off. Duncan was watching the play of emotions on her face with satisfaction. When Charlie did not reply, she continued.

"He talks when he gets drunk enough. Especially in his sleep. He'll even answer questions."

Charlie took a moment to absorb this information. On the one hand, it might be useful someday. On the other…Monroe had talked about her. In his sleep. She didn't want to contemplate why, or what he might have said. She also did not want to think about Monroe sleeping with Duncan. Her hands ached, and she realized she was gripping the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

"He didn't know Connor when he was here before," she said finally.

"No," Duncan agreed, "but he did tell me he had a son out there somewhere. It would take a fool not to see that boy is the spitting image of him. And honey, make no mistake, I am no fool."

Of that, Charlie was certain.

"Monroe let Connor whip him in front of a crowd in Mexico," she said quietly. "There's no way he'll fight him."

"If he doesn't, Gould has promised he'll hang them both instead," Duncan replied. There was a forlorn note to her voice, and Charlie realized that the other woman cared about Sebastian Monroe, and that she had reached the same conclusion Charlie had.

"Then Monroe will just let Connor kill him." Charlie's voice had dropped to just above a whisper.

Duncan nodded silently, then offered the liquor bottle to Charlie, but Charlie shook her head. She could already feel a warming sensation spreading throughout her body to her fingers and toes, and Duncan was right. It helped. She no longer felt a paralyzing fear at the thought that Sebastian Monroe intended to let his son kill him.

Now, she was just angry.

"Will you help me?" Charlie asked.

Rather than answering, Duncan studied Charlie carefully for a long moment. Charlie held her gaze, but instead of the challenge they had held the night before, the other woman's eyes held wisdom and something else that Charlie was afraid might be pity. At last, Duncan nodded.

"I'll help. But first, you need to get some sleep, kid."

Duncan walked back to the bedroom and spoke quietly to her bedmate. A few minutes later a young man clad only in jeans that weren't zipped strolled half-asleep through the living room, smiled drowsily at Charlie, and let himself out the front door. Duncan appeared a few minutes later, dressed in the same leathers she'd been wearing the night before. She sat down on the sofa to lace her boots.

"This old thing is a lot more comfortable than it looks," she said, patting one of the cushions. "Make yourself at home. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked nervously.

"I have a favor to call in and some other arrangements to make."

Panicked, Charlie glanced at the door, ready to bolt. Duncan seemed to mean well, but she didn't trust just anybody anymore. She wouldn't put it past the woman to rat her out to Gould. Duncan shook her head.

"Charlie, he'll never tell you this, but Bass needs you. Get some sleep, or you're no good to me. We'll talk later." She disappeared through the door and locked it behind her.

Dazed from lack of sleep and overwhelmed with the events of the past twenty-four hours, not to mention Duncan's parting comment, Charlie stumbled over to the couch and promptly collapsed into an exhausted sleep plagued with dreams of death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Duncan plan Monroe's rescue.

Charlie awoke to the sound of several voices arguing in the bedroom of the trailer. Judging by the amount of sunlight pouring through the windows of the trailer, Duncan had let her sleep far longer than a couple of hours. She sat up groggily and rubbed the grit from her eyes. When she opened them, there was a steaming mug in front of her face. Charlie accepted it without looking up and took a cautious swallow.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"You're welcome," said a deep voice that was definitely not Duncan's. Charlie looked up to see the smiling face of the young man who had left Duncan's trailer that morning. He had sandy blonde hair a shade brighter than her own, eyes the color leaves in the late spring, and Charlie was relieved to see he was fully dressed.

The voices in the bedroom quieted and Duncan appeared in the doorway.

"Good, you're awake. Charlie, that's Michael. Michael, meet Charlie."

Michael's eyes roved over Charlie's body in a way that might have been interesting had Charlie not been certain her eyes were bleary, her face was marked from the fabric of the couch, and her hair was a tangled mess. As it was, she couldn't help but chuckle at the man's brazenness, which earned her a sexy smile.

"She's cute, boss," he said, aiming a mischievous grin at Duncan. "Can we keep her?"

"I don't think that one likes to play, darlin," Duncan said regretfully. "Besides, the way I heard it, Monroe looked fit to kill Gould last night for eyeing her the way you just did."

Charlie didn't know whether to be amused or enraged when Michael swallowed hard and said huskily, "She's Monroe's?"

"No!" Charlie replied vehemently at the same time Duncan said, "Something like that."

"Lady, I think you have the wrong idea about me and Monroe," Charlie snapped as she slammed her mug down on the table in front of the sofa. Duncan shook her head, amused, and stepped over to the sofa. Before Charlie realized what she intended, the woman had grabbed her wrist and turned it up, revealing the raised milita brand.

"Kid, just because you aren't sleeping with him doesn't mean he doesn't think of you as his. He saved your life once, didn't he?" she said.

Charlie's eyes shifted from the mark to Duncan's face, then quickly away. Duncan's eyes widened.

"More than once?" she asked with a small laugh. "Really? How many times?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Charlie demanded angrily. She snatched her wrist out of Duncan's grasp and pulled it close, rubbing her thumb across the mark as she remembered the glowing orange iron searing her skin, leaving behind white-hot pain and the odor of burnt flesh.

"I'm curious," Duncan replied, her tone considerably cooler than it had been a moment ago. "Please, enlighten me."

Charlie folded her arms across her chest and met the other woman's gaze without flinching when she answered in a husky voice, "Four."

Duncan schooled her expression well, but even Charlie could tell the woman was taken aback. She said nothing for a long moment, and instead stared at Charlie, nodding slowly. Finally she said quietly, "It's a good thing I like you, kid." To Michael, she said "If you like having the use of all of your limbs, I'd think twice before putting the moves on her, darlin'. If she doesn't break one of your arms, it's likely Monroe will, if not worse."

Michael nodded but didn't move away; instead he stood studying Charlie curiously. She ignored him, hoping the blush staining her cheeks wasn't too prominent, and took another sip from her cup. She'd only had coffee once in her life, and she could remember her father had exclaimed over it like it was manna from heaven. Charlie wasn't sure she saw the appeal in the bitter liquid, but it helped warm the cold knot that had been growing in her chest since Monroe and his son failed to show.

"Do we have a plan yet?" she asked pointedly, hoping to shift the conversation away from her convoluted relationship with Monroe. Talking about it made her stomach churn.

Duncan turned and gestured to whomever was still in her bedroom. Another man joined them in the living room; Duncan introduced him as Dylan, one of her most trusted tribe members. He was older than Duncan, with patches of gray in his beard and at his temples. Charlie thought he might be five or ten years older than Miles and Monroe. When Charlie scooted over and made room on the sofa, he and Michael remained standing, but Duncan joined her.

"Charlie, tell us about these Patriots," Duncan said. "I'd like to know what's got Sebastian so rattled."

Charlie explained the things they had seen in Willoughby, starting with the town's "liberation" from the war clan the Patriots had been paying to harass them, up to the typhus epidemic they had engineered in order to rid the population of "undesirables," including Charlie's grandfather. Dylan looked sick.

"People haven't learned a goddamned thing in the past hundred years," he said.

"You know it wasn't Monroe that set off the bombs that hit Atlanta and Philadelphia, right?" Charlie asked. Duncan nodded.

"It was a man named Randall Flynn. After he pushed the button, he told us he was a Patriot, then he shot himself in the head. These people already have a foothold on the east coast. Texas isn't far behind, and then they'll be coming after the Plains Nation and the California Commonwealth."

Duncan exchanged glances with Michael and Dylan.

"All right. Let's put our cards on the table. I know you're Miles Matheson's niece. I assume he's in Texas?"

Charlie nodded, and Duncan continued.

"And he and Sebastian are gathering a resistance against these people."

"Right. But we need help. That's why we're here."

"Of course," Duncan agreed. "So here's where we stand. I have the men to mount a jailbreak for Sebastian and his son. But I can't guarantee we would be successful, and we would lose men doing it. It would be easier if Gould was just going to hang them. That would be out in the open; they would be easier to get to."

"But it won't come to that," Charlie said. "Monroe will die before he risks Connor hanging."

"So we're stuck with either breaking them out before the fight, or during. During could work, but there's the small matter of the large crowd who wants Sebastian Monroe dead," Duncan pointed out.

"We'd have to fight them as well as Gould's men," Charlie agreed.

"Which means, we're back to the jail-break." Duncan paused and fiddled momentarily with the pendant hanging around her neck. "Look, I consider Sebastian a friend, even if he is a complete bastard. But I can't justify sacrificing my men to rescue him. Not to mention there's nothing in it for me or my men. Connor should be okay. But you may have to cut your losses and accept that Monroe won't make it out of that cage alive."

Charlie remembered how devastated Miles had been when he believed Monroe, the man he still considered his brother, had been executed. She couldn't watch him go through that again, couldn't be the one to tell him she hadn't been able to do anything to save Monroe. As for her own conflicted feelings, as much as she had wanted him dead mere months before, she remembered how it hurt to see him walking toward the courthouse on the evening of his execution. And then it hit her.

"It wouldn't be the first time Monroe has died," she said slowly.

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked "We'd heard he was dead I assumed Texas had killed the wrong man."

"No, they had the right guy. My mom killed him. Well, she made the Patriots think she'd killed him. Miles and I believed it, too."

"How?" Duncan asked.

"She said she gave him enough barbiturates to drop a horse," Charlie said. "Slowed his heartbeat and breathing enough to fool them. They buried him, and she dug him up later."

"Dylan, go pay a visit to Gould's bookie. I think we'll make a wager on Mr. Bennett to win this fight," Duncan said briskly. Then she turned to her lover. "Michael, honey, run and fetch for me. I think I'm feeling a bit faint," she said with a wink.

Charlie shot her a wary look. She was already out on a limb, trusting Duncan to help her. The more people they let in on their plans, the more anxious Charlie got.

"Don't worry, kid," Duncan drawled. "Gonzo is one of mine, and he owes me a few favors. Everything will be fine."

It wasn't long before Michael returned with a much older man in tow. He tall and heavy-set, with salt and pepper hair, and dark, hooded eyes that spoke of too many years of hard living and horrors witnessed. It was the same expression she often saw on Miles and Monroe. He listened quietly while Duncan explained what they needed.

"I don't have barbiturates," he began, and Charlie felt a wave of disappointment. "Even if I did, you wouldn't have any way to get it to him. It would have to be injected. But I do have something else that might work."

"Which would be?" Duncan asked.

"Curare," Gonzo replied. "Not effective if swallowed, but it should work sublingually. It paralyzes the nervous system. I can make up a capsule for you in a couple of hours. It takes a few minutes to take effect."

"Can we get it to him before the fight begins?" Charlie asked.

"Not easily," Duncan replied. "Gould is keeping them in the silo he uses as a vault and holding cell. It's heavily guarded by his most trusted men. They refused to let me in to see him this morning. Gould's orders."

"What if we brought them food? or water?"

"No. Gould's men are handling that, too. You have to understand, Charlie," Duncan explained, sympathy evident in her voice, "Gould will make a killing on this fight just charging admission. He's not taking any chances."

"There has to be some way!" Charlie said. She stood and faced Duncan. "I can't go back to Miles and tell him I let his best friend die." She paused, and said in a lower voice, "And I can't watch it again, myself."

Duncan leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed her legs, looking up at Charlie with one eyebrow quirked and a speculative gleam in her eyes. "I think we be might able to pass it to him as they're being marched from the cell to the cage," she mused.

"Great," Charlie said, as the cold knot in her chest began to loosen again. "How do you plan to do it?"

"Oh no, kid. Not me," Duncan said with a sly grin. "What I have in mind wouldn't be believable if I tried it. It will have to be you."

_Of course it will,_ Charlie thought, but she didn't really care, as long as it worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Let me be clear, I've neither read nor watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas but when I ran across the name Dr. Gonzo during my research for this chapter, I decided I had to use it (to keep from just calling my character "Doc"), so this guy doesn't really have anything to do with the one in the movie. He may vaguely resemble Benicio del Toro.) Review make my day; constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

At ten minutes until nine, Charlie took up her position at the cage, elbowing her way through the crowd to get to the gate. She waited nervously, half sick, half excited at the thought of what she was about to do. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that this plan would never work. Something was bound to go wrong. The capsule might not work at all. Monroe might not be able to time it right. Gould might might get suspicious. Gonzo could betray them. She could be recognized.

Her head felt strangely light without the long locks that once fell to her waist. To disguise herself, Duncan had convinced her to cut it, then they had rinsed it with a dye made from walnut hulls. Color on her lips, cheeks, and eyes transformed her features, and a change of clothes and some cheap bangles and beads completed the disguise. In the skimpy halter top and shorts, she looked like one of the many girls-for-hire wandering around New Vegas, which was the point. It didn't mean she had to like it.

"The dye will fade out, the hair will grow out, and the makeup will wash off, Charlie," Duncan had snapped when Charlie had made a face at herself in a mirror. "We need this to work, and if they recognize you, I don't know what will happen."

The crowd around her began shouting as their impatience grew, chanting "Monroe! Monroe!" louder and louder until finally a procession appeared from behind the silo in which Connor and Monroe had been imprisoned. A pair of guards came first, followed by Connor. He was shackled at the wrist and the ankles. When Monroe appeared behind him, the rhythm of the chant was lost among a cacophonous roar of screams, cheers, whistles, and taunts. Charlie's head began to ache from the noise and the unrelenting surge of adrenaline in her body.

The guards marched Connor and Monroe to the entrance of the cage, where they stopped to unlock the cuffs on their prisoners' wrists and ankles. Once Monroe's hands and ankles were free, Charlie looked over and nodded at Duncan, who was standing on the opposite side of the gate, flanked by Michael and a couple of other men. She whispered to Michael; he in turn whirled and threw a punch at one of his companions. Two more jumped into the fray, and several onlookers as well.

When two of the guards were distracted by the fistfight, Charlie saw her chance. She broke free from the crowd, and threw herself at Monroe. He caught her, holding her at arm's length for a moment. Then his eyes widened, and he murmured a stunned, "Charlie?" as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her only reply was to press her lips firmly to his.

The crowd around them went wild, but Charlie was only aware of a dull roar in the background. Everything else was Monroe. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, lifting her up, and her legs encircled him automatically, giving her the leverage she needed to kiss him more fully. In response, he pulled her body as close as he could, tangling his hands in her hair as he kissed back. She'd been afraid she would have to convince him to let her kiss him, but instead his tongue swept into her mouth of his own accord, tasting of whiskey. When she pushed the capsule containing the curare into his mouth, his hands clenched at her waist and neck, so she knew he understood.

Charlie broke the kiss to whisper in his ear. "Hold it under your tongue. 15 minutes." To her surprise, instead of letting her go, he shuddered in her arms pulled her into another bruising kiss.

Suddenly one of the guards grabbed Charlie's hair and jerked her away from him. Charlie screamed in pain and anger and viciously drove her elbow into her attacker's solar plexus. He threw her to the ground and planted his knee in the middle of her back. Before he could call for help, Monroe kicked him in the face, knocking him away from her. Charlie heard a crack; Monroe had likely broken the man's jaw. She jumped to her feet, but another guard was ready for her; he slammed his fist into face, and she went down again, dazed. Monroe was now struggling against three guards who had stepped in to prevent him from reaching her. One held him in a headlock while the other two each held an arm, twisting it painfully behind his back.

Connor was still cuffed but had fought as best he could by headbutting the guard behind him and then driving his shoulder into the one in front of him. But the crowd had surged around them, trapping them, and a dozen guards now had them surrounded, shotguns and rifles aimed and ready.

"Bass, stop," Charlie called. She was shocked when he ceased immediately. He looked over at her to see that Gould had pulled her to her feet and now stood beside her with one arm wrapped around the front of her neck and a pistol aimed at her head. Connor stopped struggling too, and they both stared at her, stricken.

"Let her go, Gould. She has nothing to do with this. She's just some girl," Monroe said in a casual voice. "Probably a fan."

Gould's only answer was a mirthless smile in Monroe's direction. "Is that right, doll? You a fan of Jimmy King?"

Charlie didn't answer. She kept her eyes lowered, but Gould grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. His smile widened, and he nodded at one of the guards, beckoning him over. "Search her," he said. "Thoroughly. And cupcake, if you so much as twitch, I'll blow your brains out."

Charlie stilled. Her arms were free; she could reach for her pistol, but she didn't think she could shoot Gould before he fulfilled his promise. The guard started with her boots and pulled out both knives she had hidden there. He slowly ran his hands up one bare leg and then the other, finally stroking her crotch with his thumbs before he ran his hands around and under the curves of her buttocks. Charlie did her best to remain expressionless, but inside she was seething with anger and humiliation.

She risked a glance at her companions; Connor had turned away as if to spare her further embarrassment. Monroe, however, was looking on with the dead-eyed gaze she had always feared the most, the one that was almost reptilian in its coldness. She knew if they managed to survive the night, one way or another, the man searching her would die for putting his hands on her; Gould would die for telling him to do it. Next Charlie sought out Duncan in the crowd, but couldn't locate her. She assumed the other woman was somewhere behind her, waiting to see how events would unfold.

The goon removed the gun she had tucked into the back of the waistband of her shorts and handed it to Gould. He was just as thorough with the rest of her body, cupping her breasts and dipping his fingers down the front of her halter top, where he located the pocket knife she had tucked in one of the built-in cups. For good measure, he ran his hands down her bare arms, shoulder to wrist. When his fingers skated over the brand under her forearm, Charlie flinched. The guard turned her wrist up and showed it to Gould. Gould grabbed her arm and held it up to show the audience.

"Just some girl, right, 'Jimmy?'" Gould called loud enough for the audience to hear. "Even if I believed that, and I don't, this little darling was your accomplice last night, your decoy. Sure, she's cut her hair and put on a little makeup, but there's no hiding those eyes."

Monroe remained silent. Seemingly disappointed by his lack of reaction, Gould continued.

"What should we do with her?" he yelled to the crowd.

"Shoot her! Militia scum!"

"Give her to me! I'll punish her!"

Most of the responses were vicious or filthy. Monroe strained against his captors, but Charlie shook her head. Gould grinned, satisfied he had got a reaction from him at last.

"I'm a fair man. Since she's a member of the "fairer sex," I'll give her a chance," he said, his voice rising in order to carry to the rest of the crowd. Then he said to Monroe, "Either she goes in the cage, too, or I shoot her now, in front of you."

Charlie dug her her fingers into Gould's arm. "Let me go you bastard!"

"Ah, ah, ah. Remember what I told you, cupcake. I will shoot you. At least in the cage you might have a chance. I'll even make it a fighting one. You and that young man over there," he nodded at Connor, "the two of you manage to kill Monroe, you both get to live."

"What about him?" Connor spoke up for the first time, nodding at Monroe.

"He wants to walk out, he has to kill you both," Gould said. He turned to Monroe. "Wanna give your girl one last goodbye kiss?" he taunted. "No? What about you, then, kid?" he asked, turning to Connor.

"Just get on with it, Gould," Monroe broke in angrily. "Put us in the fucking cage."

Charlie couldn't completely dispel the cold prickling sensation of fear that made its way up her spine to the back of her neck. This turn of events hadn't been in the plan, but it could work. Unfortunately, something about being locked in a cage for a fight to the death with Sebastian Monroe had the small, animalistic part of her that remembered being prey for larger animals millions of years ago, yowling with fear and desperation.

One by one the three of them were shoved into the cage at gunpoint, Connor last, after they finally uncuffed him. Gould made a production of locking the gate behind them, jangling the keys on the large ring and tossing them to one of the guards.

"Weapons!" he called. One of the guards brought two machetes forward and tossed to Connor and one to Monroe.

"Uh-oh," said Gould, with phony concern. "Looks like we're one sword short. Either of you going to be a gentleman and let the lady defend herself?"

Connor glanced at her, but she gave him a slight shake of her head. Monroe knew better than to ask.

"What about you kind people?" Gould asked the spectators. "Anyone want to offer this young lady a weapon out of the goodness of your hearts? I'm sure she'd be realgrateful," he drawled, the implication clear.

"I will," a familiar voice called.

Michael had stepped up to one of the cabled walls and passed a heavy, metal cylinder through. It had a leather grip at one end as well as a strap that could be slipped over her wrist. She reached for it, but he refused to let it go.

"Can I at least get a kiss? Seein' as how you'll probably be dead soon," he added with a wink.

I'm going to kill him, Charlie thought. But she took a step forward and and pressed her face against the cables. Michael reached through and cupped the back of her head. Amidst cat-calls, and cheering, his lips touched hers firmly, but he didn't try to push any further. He released her with a sexy grin.

"Keep your head, darlin', it will be ok."

Charlie nodded once and slipped the leather strap over her wrist. Then she turned around to face Connor and Monroe. Connor's expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Monroe just looked like he wanted to rip Michael's arms off and beat him to death with them.

She moved toward Connor, which placed both of them across the ring from Monroe.

"Tell me you have a plan, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "Because his plan sucks."

"I know," Charlie said.

"You got a better one?"

Charlie shook her head. She didn't have time to explain. "Hit him 'til he drops."

"Seriously?" he hissed furiously. "That's the best you've got?" When she nodded, he muttered, "Your plan sucks, too."

"Just shut up and trust me," Charlie muttered back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight, finally.

"Welcome New Vegas! You know why you're here. We knew him before as Jimmy King, but we all know there's no rest for the wicked. And they don't come any wickeder than General Sebastian Monroe! Founder of the Monroe Republic, butcher, dictator…petty thief. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!" Gould shouted from his stand at one end of the fighting ring.

The crowd roared their approval at Monroe's unfortunate change in circumstances as Gould continued.

"His opponents are young Connor Bennett and the lovely…" he trailed off, looking at Charlie expectantly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Monroe shaking his head, but she didn't care. She hoped Gould realized that one way or another, either by Monroe's hand or Miles's, he was a dead man.

"Charlotte Matheson," she answered icily. Gould's eyes widened in surprise and, if Charlotte wasn't mistaken, even a hint of fear. But he covered it well and went on with his spiel.

"…the lovely Charlotte Matheson," he finished, crowd around him exclaiming at the name that was almost as universally hated as Monroe . "Ladies and gentlemen, it's a fight to the death. Who will be the last man, or woman, standing? Who's rooting for these two kids?" he asked, and the cheering reached a deafening level. "May the best man or woman win!"

Out of nowhere, Monroe made the first move. Charlie dove to the side as he rushed Connor, swinging the sword overhand to meet Connor's with a clash that caused sparks to fly. They slashed at each other viciously several times, swords ringing when they met. Connor swung wildly at Monroe's head; he dodged the blow easily and kicked out at Connor, knocking him backward. Charlie swung the bat at him but he was ready for her and countered easily. It was obvious neither of them was a match for him. She wondered how long it would be before Gould was on to them and simply killed them all outright.

"You've got to do better than that, kid," Monroe said to Connor as they and Connor circled each other. "You want Charlie to die?"

Connor narrowed his eyes at his father, then glanced at Charlie.

"Jesus, I really am an idiot," he said. "You want her. That's what made you so mad."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Monroe said. "That little whore has been a pain in my ass ever since I met her. I should have killed her in Philadelphia when I had the chance."

Enraged, Connor charged Monroe with a series of powerful blows. Clash, clash, swish. The last was aimed for his head, which Monroe ducked again. This time he countered with a sideways swipe aimed at Connor's chest which grazed him, slicing through his shirt and drawing blood. Connor grabbed his father's arm, pulled him forward and kneed him in the chest. Unphased, Monroe grabbed him by the neck and headbutted him. Connor stumbled back, dazed. Charlie jumped in between them and swung again at Monroe to give Connor time to recover, but Monroe simply grabbed the bat, jerked it forward and threw her to the ground behind him.

"Stay out of the way, Charlotte," he barked at her.

The look in his eyes frightened her. She'd seen people taken by blood lust before, reacting to the rhythm and rush of the heat of battle. He advanced on Connor with a cold smile.

"You're gonna let a girl fight for you?" he taunted.

"I don't think I'm the one she's fighting for," Connor said with a rueful smile, as he backed away, sword held at the ready. "She's not stupid. She could have just let you die."

Monroe went on the attack, furiously striking at Connor again and again. Connor parried blow for blow until he forced Monroe to leave an opening and caught him on the outside of the thigh, leaving a long gash that bled freely.

"She probably should have let you die," Connor continued. "She'd be better off." He was panting now, and on the defensive.

"Do you think I don't know that?" Monroe said. He too, seemed to be short of breath, but he continued to rain blows at Connor, driving him backward.

"You'll just break her," Connor said finally, struggling now simply to block each strike before it landed.

Monroe laughed darkly. "I already did."

He aimed another blow overhead but Connor caught his wrist and knocked the sword out of Monroe's grip with his own. Undeterred, Monroe punched him twice in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. When Connor let go of his wrist, he drew back and aimed a powerful punch at his jaw, sending him to the ground. He stepped on Connor's sword arm, preparing to take the weapon for himself.

"Get away from him!" Charlie screeched, terrified he might forget himself and go too far. She swung the bat with all her might, catching Monroe across the back several times before he managed to stumble away. Charlie glanced down at Connor. He was breathing but appeared to be unconscious. She swapped the bat to her right hand and picked up his sword with her left. Meanwhile, Monroe managed to stagger over to his own sword and pick it up, turning around to face her.

"God damn you, Charlotte," Monroe said. "You couldn't just follow instructions, could you?"

Charlie retorted, "I don't take orders from you, Monroe."

She swung the sword at him as hard as she could and he countered with an upsweep of his, jarring her arms all the way to her shoulders.

"You don't get to tell anybody anything," she said, recalling the day in the empty pool he told her to watch her mouth.

_Swish toward his abdomen. Clang. Backhand block._ Charlie's arms were beginning to ache from the vibrations and the weight of the sword itself.

"And if you won't put yourself out of your misery, I"ll be happy to do it for you." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the crowd, now.

_Swish toward the shoulder. A sliding block that didn't hurt her arms so much, but made a lot of sparks._

"For my mother. Because I had to grow up without her," Charlie said coldly.

_Swish. Clang._ His reaction times seemed to be slowing. She knocked at his sword with the bat and managed to graze him with her own sword, slashing his sword arm.

"For my father. Because you sicced that monster on him."

_Swish. Clang._ Each time he blocked, his sword dipped lower.

"For Danny, who never hurt anybody." Monroe flinched visibly at that one.

_Swish toward the head._ He ducked, caught her sword with his, twisted his wrist and sent hers flying. She swapped the bat back to her left hand again.

"You're forgetting the most important one, Charlotte." Monroe called to her.

"What? Who?" she said, thrown. He was responsible for so much more, but those were the ones she held him accountable for to her, personally.

_Swish toward his knee. Downward sweep, just managing to knock the blow to the side._ The curare was taking effect; it was almost time.

"For yourself, because you don't actually hate me for the rest of it anymore. And that's the worst part of all."

With a keening cry of rage, Charlie smashed the bat into his sword arm, and suddenly the sword was dangling from his fingers. She hit it with the bat and it went flying out of his reach, sliding under one of the cables out of the ring. She swung again, hitting him in the ribcage. His breath whooshed out and he wrapped his uninjured arm around his midsection protectively. One more swing landed another strike, this time at the back of his thigh and he went down on his knees, looking up at her, dazed with pain, blood loss, and regret.

"Do it now, Charlie," he rasped. "Kill me if you have to. Don't hesitate, sweetheart, or he'll shoot you."

Her vision blurred, and Charlie realized she was crying. The spectators were roaring their approval, chanting "Kill him! Kill him!" Monroe's mouth was still moving but she couldn't hear what he was saying. She lowered the bat and took a step forward, just to hear, but his expression changed to one of rage and fear as he looked over her shoulder. She turned to see that Gould was watching her intently, tapping the pistol against his arm. He smiled and nodded at her. Charlie turned back to Monroe.

"Do it, you crazy bitch! I don't want to watch you die!" he shouted. "Hit me!"

Tears flowing freely now, Charlie lifted the club and slammed it into Monroe's head, praying she hadn't put enough force in the blow to actually kill him. He toppled over in a heap and she looked on, stunned, as he expelled one long, slow, painful breath and was still. Charlie dropped the bat and stumbled over to him, where she fell to her knees and placed her ear against his chest. After a moment, a hand crept over her shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Charlie, is he still…." Connor trailed off, unable to finish the question.

Charlie shook her head, not intending to answer yes or no, but just to forestall the question. She honestly didn't know the answer. The cheering of the crowd was so loud, she couldn't hear anything else, couldn't tell if Monroe was still breathing or not. Connor sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her, while she covered her face with her hands and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there are some bits of dialogue here (and possibly other chapters) that echo the show. In this case, Charlie needed to put herself back in the mindset where she hated Monroe, so she calls upon a moment where she did and uses it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. This is originally the chapter I had thought I might end with. But a few more plot points occurred to me so I'm still writing, but it will be a few days before I post another chapter most likely. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed/left kudos or even just read!

"Charlie. Charlie."

Someone was shaking her shoulder gently, then she was being pulled away from Monroe's body. Dr. Gonzo and Gould were there, and as she watched, Gould gave Monroe a vicious kick. There was no response from Monroe, not even an involuntary flinch of pain.

"Check him," Gould said to the doctor.

The doctor made a show of checking for respiration, pulse, pupil response, and pain reflex. Finally he stood and made the pronouncement the crowd was waiting for.

"He's dead."

The response from the crowd was deafening. The arms that pulled her away tightened around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. She realized she was still weeping as her body shook against Connor's. He helped her stand, and then Duncan was there, placing Charlie's leather jacket over her shoulders. She placed herself between them and Gould, who was eyeing them both greedily.

"Let them go, Gould," Duncan said in voice that held a note of warning. "You have what you wanted. Monroe is dead."

"I said they'd live, Duncan. I never said I'd let them go. Do you have any idea how much that girl is worth?"

"Do you have any idea how few days you'll live to enjoy it?" Duncan snapped. "Monroe was never one for subtlety. But that's Miles Matheson's niece. You'll never see him coming. When he gets wind that you not only murdered his best friend, but you've sold his beloved niece into slavery, your life won't be worth a dollar bill."

Gould hesitated, but Charlie could see that he was seriously considering Duncan's words. She moved in for the kill.

"Come on, Gould. I'll even make it worth your while. I'll buy them from you. Three grams each. You can take it out of my winnings.

"What are they to you?" Gould asked, his eyes narrowing.

She smiled slyly at him. "They boy is pretty. And my Michael has taken a shine to the girl," she added, nodding at Michael through the fence. He responded with one of his lazy winks.

Gould's expression turned lecherous as his eyes flicked from Duncan to Connor, then to Charlie. "All right, Duncan. They're yours. Hell, I may even come for a visit sometime."

Charlie had to dig her fingers into Connor's arm in order to quell her urge to vomit. But when Gould motioned to some of his men to retrieve Monroe from the ground, she started to panic.

"Stop!" she said urgently, moving away from the shelter of Connor's arms and grabbing Gould by the sleeve. "You can't take him."

"And why is that?" Gould asked, turning on her with menace in his eyes. Duncan quickly intervened.

"I'm sorry, did I forget to mention we're taking the body? You don't really want Matheson coming to look for it, do you?"

Duncan nodded to a group of men at the gate. Charlie released Gould and stepped back as they surrounded Monroe and lifted him onto a stretcher. Connor had pulled away from Duncan and stood next to Charlie. She hoped he wouldn't be too angry when he discovered their deception. That is, if she hadn't actually managed to kill Monroe.

"Come along, my darlings," Duncan sang in her best drawl.

She stepped between Connor and Charlie and slipped an arm around each of them, guiding them out of the cage behind her men. The crowd was surging toward them, some yelling in their faces about how glad they were Monroe was finally dead. One man stepped forward and spit in Charlie's face, then on Monroe. Without blinking, Charlie had yanked her pistol out of the pocket of jacket Duncan had slipped around her shoulders and shoved it into the man's face, trembling with rage. Behind her, a shotgun roared.

The crowd quieted, and Charlie turned to see that not only had Duncan fired into the air, but her men had all drawn their weapons and were aiming at the crowd and at Gould's men. There were at least thirty of them.

"Now, I know we're all overjoyed that this bastard is finally dead, but I hope you good people won't begrudge him a decent burial," Duncan said in a light voice that was backed by steel. "Don't make me have to shoot anyone."

The people that had surrounded them slowly backed away. Duncan pushed Charlie and Connor forward. Charlie saw that Connor had drawn a pistol of his own; Duncan must have slipped it to him. They were allowed to leave without further incident, and Duncan guided the party back to her trailer. Behind them the silence degenerated into cheers and whistles. Charlie could hear people clamoring for their winnings. Bile rose in her throat, and she broke away from Duncan, kneeling at the far edge of the trailer as her stomach emptied itself. She was suddenly not sorry she had cut her hair.

"Here, kid," Duncan said kindly, having walked up behind her. She handed Charlie a flask, which Charlie then tipped into her mouth. She swished the liquor around her mouth a few times before she spit it out.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I didn't think they'd recognize you so easily. You ok?"

Charlie shook her head. "No. Is Monroe…" she trailed off, unable to ask if he was dead.

"The doc is checking him now," Duncan replied, and led her to the rear side of trailer, which faced the wilderness outside of the small settlement. There were armed guards posted in a wide perimeter, and Charlie was relieved to see their wagon and horses waiting behind the trailer. Duncan's men had loaded the stretcher onto it, and Dr. Gonzo was examining Monroe. Connor was waiting anxiously, sweeping a hand through the dark curls on his head. When he saw Charlie, he lit into her.

"What the hell, Charlie?" he demanded. "I thought you said you had a plan!"

"Getting thrown into the cage with you wasn't exactly a part of it," Duncan said sarcastically. "Though, now that I think of it, it probably worked out better that way," she added.

"Someone tell me what's going on right now!" Connor demanded.

"We gave him something to make him appear dead," Charlie said wearily. "I slipped it to him when I kissed him. Curare. It took a little while to work."

"And if you hadn't got thrown in the cage? He wanted me to kill him!" Connor said explosively.

Duncan answered for Charlie. "I trust Monroe enough to know he would have figured out some way to make it look good without letting you actually kill him, once he knew what was up. He didn't get to be a megalomaniacal dictator because he was stupid."

Charlie just shook her head. She didn't want to think about everything that could have gone wrong; instead she approached the wagon, where Monroe lay still as death. Dr. Gonzo was listening to his chest with a stethoscope, and counting pulsebeats at his wrist. Connor and Charlie looked on silently, wearing identical expressions of fear. Finally, the doctor sat back on his heels.

"He'll live. His respiration and pulse are considerably slower than normal, but steady. The cuts are mostly superficial. Two of them need to be stitched. His wrist is broken, but it appears to be a clean break. I'll set it and splint it in a few minutes."

Charlie exhaled slowly and felt tension ebb in her chest that she had been previously unaware of. She sagged against the wagon, resting her head on her hands as she focused on breathing. She'd been so afraid she had actually killed him.

"Connor, I could use your help," Duncan said. "We need to get loaded up so we can move out."

"We?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"There's no way you two would be able to manage hauling him back to Texas by yourselves," Duncan said with a small laugh. "Besides, I made enough in diamonds tonight to pay the men he requested and then some. I'll just deliver them myself, and see what these Patriots are up to firsthand."

Charlie nodded in acceptance. Connor gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he followed Duncan into the trailer.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Charlie asked the doctor.

"Can you stitch?"

Charlie nodded. She'd had plenty of experience as a field medic over the past year and a half. Her stitches weren't pretty, but they were functional. At least Monroe wouldn't be able to squirm while she was working. She climbed into the back of the wagon, where the doctor handed her some thread and a needle, both of which had been doused with alcohol. He splashed some on her hands, as well. Charlie spilled some on a clean cloth and began blotting some of the blood away from Monroe's cuts to clean them. With that done, she carefully began stitching the gashes closed.

"How long do you think he'll be unconscious?" she asked, hoping she would be able to finish before he awakened.

"He's not. Curare doesn't put you to sleep. It doesn't numb pain either. It just paralyzes you."

Charlotte looked up at him in shock. "He can still feel everything?" she asked in a quiet voice.

The doctor just nodded, he was working on aligning Monroe's wrist bones. When he was finished, he elaborated. "Feel everything, hear everything, see everything, if his eyes were open. The drug should wear off within the hour." He fell silent again and began working on wrapping Monroe's wrist in a splint.

Charlie began stitching again, this time working as efficiently as she could, but the gashes were each several inches long. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

She knew she was being ridiculous. Monroe's body had many old scars, including the ones on his back that were still healing from the whipping he had received at his son's hands a few weeks before. A few stitches were nothing compared to that. When she was done, she helped the doctor finish cleaning the rest of Monroe's cuts. Before he left, he gave her a soft case with a vial of morphine and a syringe, with instructions to use it sparingly if Monroe requested it. Finally, Charlie sat back against the side of the wagon to rest, her hands and neck aching from the strain.

"You ok?" a voice said over her shoulder. At the same time, a warm hand began working at the knot in the base of her neck, and Charlie flinched away violently. "Whoa, hey, sorry," Michael said, pulling his hands away.

"No, it's ok. You just startled me," Charlie explained, relaxing once more. "I didn't hear you walk up behind me."

"Didn't mean to scare you. May I?" he asked, nodding at her neck. "You look a little tense."

Charlie nodded, and Michael placed his thumbs at the knots in her neck and shoulders and began to work at them gently. Charlie groaned with relief as she felt them loosen.

"Better?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Yes, thanks."

"So…that was kind of intense," he said, nodding toward Monroe.

Charlie merely nodded again. "Just another day in the life of Charlie Matheson," she said sardonically.

"You did good. He'll be ok," Michael said, obviously wanting to reassure her. But Charlie only wanted everyone to let her be so she could fall apart where no one could see. She was so tired. Unfortunately, she didn't have a moment to rest.

"Sebastian Monroe is too damn stubborn to die," Duncan drawled as she and Connor joined them, both tossing packs loaded with supplies into the back of the wagon. "And we need to get moving. Michael, did you get my diamonds from that bastard?"

"Right here, boss," Michael said with the warm smile he reserved for Duncan. He withdrew a small, bulging satchel from his coat pocket and passed it over to her. "He wasn't too happy about it, though."

"Mm-hmm. I'll bet he wasn't, which is why we need to get moving. Connor, you can drive. I'll ride shotgun. Michael, I want you and five of the men to follow along with us. Sam is taking five more with him to scout ahead." She paused a moment and looked at Charlie. "Go change, otherwise you'll freeze in that getup."

Charlie didn't have to be told twice. She climbed down from the wagon and ran to the trailer. She returned after a few short minutes feeling more like herself in her own top and pants, with her belt and weapons secured. Connor was standing beside the wagon waiting for her, his back turned to Duncan and Michael, who were caught in a liplock on the other side. Before Charlie could protest, Connor pulled her into a crushing hug. She stood stiffly in his embrace at first, but she finally wrapped her arms around him. It felt strange, and she was relieved when he pulled away after a moment.

"Sorry about yelling at you earlier," he began sheepishly. When she nodded, he continued. "Thanks for coming to the rescue, Charlie. I mean it. Remind me never to underestimate you again," he said with a wry grin.

"Thought you had figured that out already," she retorted huskily with a weary smile of her own.

Connor just shook his head and climbed up into the driver's seat, followed by Duncan, who, true to her word, sat with a shotgun laid across her lap. Michael mounted the last waiting horse and gestured with a twirl of his finger to a group of five men on horseback who took up positions around the wagon, Michael riding at Duncan's side. Charlie dragged herself into the wagon and reclined against the small pile of bedrolls, exhausted. Rolling onto her side, she looked over at Monroe.

His eyes were still closed, and she hoped maybe he had gone to sleep. Someone had covered him with a blanket while she had been changing her clothes, so she couldn't see whether or not he was still breathing. She cautiously slipped a hand beneath the blanket across his chest, resting it over his heart until she finally felt it thump under her palm, and felt his chest rise and fall slowly. Charlie closed her eyes and let herself drift, trying her damnedest not to think at all.

Suddenly she jolted back to awareness, unsure why at first. Then she realized Monroe's hand had crept over hers and was squeezing gently. Her eyes flew to his and found that they were open and watching her, his face turned toward hers. She started to sit up, to let Connor and Duncan know that the drug was wearing off, but his grip on her hand tightened when she tried to pull away.

"Monroe?" she whispered. "Do you need something?"

He shook his head. "Thought I told you to drive back to Willoughby," he rasped, sounding irritated.

Charlie felt an odd sense of disappointment mingled with ire at his words.

"You did," she said in a flat tone. She didn't feel like arguing. If the stubborn son of a bitch would rather he had died in that damn cage, she was sure she could find a way to fulfill that wish the next time they stopped. Again she tried to pull her hand away from his, but he laced his fingers through hers tightly and would not let go. He closed his eyes, and turned away. Charlie thought he had fallen asleep, when he spoke again.

"You came back," he said simply.

Charlie's heart stuttered in her chest as her memories swept her back to the fight with the Patriots in the empty school. When he had walked through the exit that night, she had been certain they would never see him again. Instead, moments later, he had returned and saved her life yet again. And now he had echoed the same words she'd spoken to him then.

"A thank you would be nice, Sebastian," she said in a wry voice.

His eyes remained closed, but the pressure of his fingers on hers increased slightly. After a long moment, he replied softly, "Thank you, Charlie."

She thought he would let go of her hand then, but instead he drifted off to sleep, fingers still laced in hers. Charlie let herself relax for the first time in more than forty-eight hours. Finally, they were leaving New Vegas.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More talkiness. Action should pick up again next chapter. I’m starting to get into the shippyness here, sort of, so if Charloe shippyness isn’t your thing you might want to consider Chapter 5 to be the end of this story and just move along. I’ve looked at this until I’m cross-eyed. Please let me know if you spot glaring errors. Constructive criticism deeply appreciated.

When Bass awoke, it took him a moment to recall where he was and why. Eyes closed, he let sensations slowly trickle in as he assessed his surroundings: the rocking motion and creaking wheels of a wagon; the earthy scent of horses; pains in his head, torso and limbs, some dull, some stinging; heat at his side and a heavy weight across his chest.

Charlie.

During the night she had curled into his side, presumably for warmth; her palm had flattened against his chest above his heart, as if to reassure herself that it still continued to beat. Even more surprising, somehow he had managed to get his arm around her, cradling her protectively to his chest with her head tucked into his shoulder. He turned to study her sleeping face in the faint light of dawn. A bruise had bloomed on her cheek where one of Gould's goons had punched her, blue darkening to purple. Noticing it brought to mind the image of the guard's hands skimming across her body, and Gould's leering gaze as he'd watched. He closed his eyes again as he burned with the need to slice their necks open and spill their blood at her feet.

Fool, he thought. He'd made it a point not to examine his feelings for her too closely over the past few months. Knowing he needed to protect her was enough; he had plenty of reasons to justify that need. He had promised Rachel. She was Miles's niece. Saving her life at the tower was the first good thing he'd managed to accomplish after fifteen years of carnage and destruction; she was living proof that somewhere buried inside him, the man he once was still existed. In fighting for her, he was fighting for his own soul.

Seeing her lying naked in a field with his son had shocked him to the core; for one brief instant, he wanted nothing more than to rip Connor's head from his shoulders. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he couldn't think beyond the fact that Charlie had given herself to someone that wasn't him - worse, to his son. In that moment, he realized what he'd been denying all along.

_He wanted her._

His outraged cry that night had been directed at himself just as much as it was them. Out of all the women in the world, the one his worthless, withered heart had decided to claim was the very one that was most out of his reach. She was Miles's niece. Rachel's daughter. She was half his age. He was responsible for the death of her father and brother. And while she may not be actively trying to kill him anymore, she still loathed the part of him that was a monster. Hell, she'd probably kill him when she woke to find herself plastered to him like a piece of saran wrap, because somehow it would be his fault, of course.

"Connor," he called quietly, reaching his hand up to knock against the back of the driver's seat, hoping not to disturb the sleeping girl.

Connor glanced back and smiled when he saw Bass was awake, but the smile quickly changed to a frown when he noticed Charlie was curled up against him.

"Cozy?" he asked in a flat voice.

Bass ignored him. "Where are we?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"We're about 20 miles out of New Vegas," another voice answered, this one female. He shifted his gaze to the seat above his head to see Duncan smirking down at him.

"Mornin' sunshine," she said.

_Ah, hell,_ he thought. If there was anyone who wanted to kill him more than Charlie, it might be Duncan. Funny that the two women who currently hated him the most (aside from Rachel) had joined forces to rescue his ass. _Probably so they can kill me themselves._

"Duncan," he replied warily. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I thought it was time for a little vacation," she said lightly. "It's been a while since I visited Texas. Hey, do you think Six Flags is open?"

Bass couldn't help but chuckle. Unfortunately, it turned into a cough, and he realized, as pain radiated throughout his body, that he much would have preferred they had just let him die.

The hand resting on his chest tensed, and moments later Charlie shot straight up to a sitting position, scanning her surroundings with a wary eye. When she realized her proximity to him, she scrambled away, a faint blush staining her cheeks. She busied herself searching through one of the backpacks and pulled out a couple of canteens. She passed one up to Duncan, then she held her hand out to Bass.

"Sit up so you can drink," she ordered, much to his amusement.

He grasped her hand and allowed her to pull him up. He accepted the canteen gratefully and finished more than a quarter of it while she piled up bedrolls behind him. When he leaned back against them, he couldn't completely stifle his groan as the bruised muscles in his back stretched.

"Jesus, Charlotte, I think you should have just killed me instead," he joked as he handed back the canteen. "It would have hurt less."

She inhaled sharply and retorted, "Who says I didn't try?" in a strained voice. She slung the canteen over her shoulder and grabbed her bow. "It looks like there's an abandoned farm house up ahead," she said to Duncan. "We should stop and rest the horses for a while. I'm going to stretch my legs; I'll meet you there."

"Charlie, wait," Bass protested, but she ignored him and climbed down from the wagon without giving him a chance to finish. As she jogged into a nearby field, it dawned on him that he had upset her.

"Shit," he muttered. "I hate it when she does that."

"You know, I told them last night you didn't get to be a megalomaniacal dictator by being stupid," Duncan said thoughtfully as she watched Charlie disappear into the tall grass. "Apparently I was wrong."

Michael had ridden up beside her, after having dropped back with the rest of the men shortly after daybreak to make sure they weren't being followed.

"Should I go after her?" he asked them. Duncan simply looked at Monroe with one eyebrow raised.

"No," he said finally, sounding exasperated. "If she's pissed off enough, she just might shoot you. She can take care of herself. Go check out that farmhouse, make sure it's really abandoned."

Michael touched his fingers to the brim of his hat in a salute and urged his horse to a canter to catch up to the scouting party they'd sent ahead. Connor reined in the wagon team, bringing them and the wagon to a halt. Then he and Duncan leapt down to stretch their legs; Connor walked off in the direction of the farm house without a word. Bass struggled to the edge of the wagon bed and slid off, waving Duncan away when she offered to help.

"I'm all right," he grumbled, even though parts of him hurt like hell. "What are you doing here, Duncan?"

"You asked for mercenaries, Sebastian," she replied, as if it was obvious. "I'm overseeing the delivery of your men personally."

"What? How? Why?" he asked, confused. They had failed to procure the diamonds he'd needed to pay Duncan for her men. And Duncan wasn't the type of person to do anything merely out of the goodness of her heart.

"I made a fortune betting on Connor to win last night," she answered. "More than enough to cover your mercs. And I thought it wouldn't hurt to see what these Patriots are up to after all. Charlie explained what's been happening in Willoughby."

Bass nodded. This was good news. Maybe if she saw the Patriots firsthand, she'd be willing to devote more men or money to the cause. Miles's little resistance could use all the help they could get.

"I have to say, Duncan, you're the last person I expected to ride to my rescue. She got to you, didn't she?" he asked pensively, his gaze wandering in the direction Charlie had taken.

Duncan smiled. "Yeah. The kid's got guts. She showed up on my doorstep at dawn yesterday, knocked out one of my guards, let herself into my trailer and demanded to know where you were. She reminds me of…well, me."

Bass wasn't sure he wanted to know that. He'd been drawn to Duncan immediately when he'd met her in New Vegas during his prize-fighting days. She was fiercely independent, stubborn as hell, and beautiful. Suddenly he had to wonder if it wasn't Duncan herself he'd been drawn to, but rather the traits she exhibited that he'd always seen in Charlie.

"You know, when I left New Vegas it wasn't voluntarily. A couple of bounty hunters found me and kidnapped me," he said in a sheepish voice.

Duncan's eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to one side, folding her arms. "Really?" she drawled in obvious disbelief. "Because the way Ratos explained it, you left your trailer that night to meet a young woman he described as 'young, sexy as hell, and with the most beautiful ice blue eyes he'd ever seen.' No one's heard a word from you since, not until you showed up again the other night, with Charlie."

Bass thought back to the night he was abducted. "Yes, Charlie was there that night. She tried to kill me," he explained, laughing when saw he'd caught Duncan by surprise. "Damned bounty hunters saved my life, otherwise you would have found me with a bolt through my head the next morning."

"Obviously, you managed to escape," Duncan pointed out. " And yet, you didn't come back to New Vegas. Why is that?"

"The bounty hunters were working for the Patriots," he said in a tight voice. Then he looked away and added, "One of the notices they were carrying was for Charlie's mother."

"I see," Duncan replied quietly.

"Look, Duncan," Bass began, but Duncan held up a hand to forestall him.

"Don't. It's not like we had any kind of commitment. What we had was fun, but that's all it was." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "That girl cares about you. I don't know how much you remember from last night, but-"

"Things got a little fuzzy after she hit me in the head, but I remember enough," he said shortly

_Charlie apologizing for hurting him while she stitched up the gash in his thigh. Hearing her sobbing over him after he'd collapsed in the ring. Falling asleep with his hand in hers and feeling a peace unlike any he'd known since before he'd lost Shelly and the baby._

"I hope you know what you're doing. I'd hate to see you break her heart," Duncan said as she began walking away. Then she turned and nodded toward Connor, who was walking into the same field Charlie had jogged into earlier. "Even worse, Sebastian, I'd hate to see what happens if she breaks yours."

~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie furiously pushed her way through the prairie grasses that had long ago overtaken the farmland, growing taller than her head in many places. She walked until she could no longer see the wagon or its occupants, then stopped, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet smell of wildflowers and the soft breeze that lifted the curls away from her face. When she could breathe normally again she scanned her surroundings as best she could, noting animals trails and other evidence of possible game. She loaded a bolt into her bow and moved forward with a purpose, taking down several rabbits within twenty minutes. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to make a quick breakfast along with some of the other provisions from the wagon.

Off to her right, she heard someone blundering around in the grass. Just to be safe, she loaded another bolt and held her bow at the ready as she waited for whoever it was to show themselves. Moments later, Connor nearly stumbled into her.

"Hey," he said with a self-conscious grin. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I'm fine," she replied shortly. "Found some breakfast," she added, holding up the rabbits.

Connor just shook his head with a small laugh. "And here I thought you might change your ways and start putting beetroot on your lips after all, after seeing that outfit you were wearing last night."

"Not likely," Charlie retorted. "Did you get a chance check out that farmhouse?"

"Yeah. It's empty, but it's been picked clean. There's a well with a hand pump that still works, though," he said with a smile.

"Good." Charlie didn't feel like making conversation. The sight of so much flat, open land set her nerves on edge; she had grown up in an area with plenty of trees and hills in which to find cover if needed. She walked along silently as they followed the trail Connor had made back to the farmhouse.

"I was right," he said in a tight voice after a few minutes.

"About what?" Charlie asked, perplexed.

He frowned and said darkly, "It's weird."

Charlie flushed but didn't reply. She had no idea what to say. It didn't matter, Connor just plowed ahead anyway.

"I mean, the way he looks at you-"

"We have a complicated history," she interrupted, her voice husky. "I tried to kill him. More than once. You might expect him to give me a weird look occasionally."

Connor ignored her and finished, "…and the way you look at him…." he trailed off with a sidelong glance at her.

"You don't understand," Charlie protested angrily, but Connor stopped walking, folded his arms and laughed ruefully

"Oh, I think I understand perfectly, Charlie. I never really even had a chance, did I?" he asked, and to Charlie's shame, he looked a little sad.

_No,_ she thought. _You really didn't._ But she couldn't say that to him.

Connor shook his head "Whatever. Look, do you think we can get past the weirdness and maybe be friends?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," Charlie said

"Okay, then," Connor said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Come on; they'll send out a search party for us if we don't get back soon." He turned and began walking again, and she followed.

"Where'd you learn to hunt?" he asked, clearly attempting to make casual conversation.

"Trial and error, mostly" she answered with a shrug. "It was either learn or starve some winters."

Connor nodded in understanding, but she wondered if he'd ever experienced any truly lean years. Her mother had described his adopted father's compound as extravagant, with abundant food and liquor and parties every night. Her family's meager existence must seem like hardship in comparison, but Charlie knew they'd managed quite well compared to some.

When they reached the farmhouse, Michael had returned with Sam and the rest of the men from the scouting party; they were all deep in conversation with Duncan and Monroe on the front porch. Charlie noticed Monroe's glance shift to her and Connor as they approached. Connor walked over to join the discussion, smiling amicably when Duncan introduced him to some of her men.

Charlie walked to the wagon instead, where she dropped the rabbits into the bed and began working to unhitch the team. Not long after, the impromptu meeting broke up and Monroe came to help her with the horses. They worked together in a companionable silence for several minutes, for which Charlie was grateful; her nerves were still raw from their ordeal the night before. After a few minutes they were each leading a horse to the water trough and pump in the pasture behind the house.

"Look, I didn't mean-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Just stop," she said wearily. She didn't want an apology. She felt silly for getting so upset over a joke in the first place, so she tried to explain. "I'm over it. I just didn't think it was funny. For a few minutes last night…."

"What?" he asked curiously, when she trailed off.

"After I hit you in the head, I was afraid I might have actually killed you," she

He glanced over at her, surprised. "A few months ago that was all you wanted," he reminded her.

Charlie shook her head. "I know, but…I don't want that anymore."

He stopped this time, and the look he shot her was dark and intense, not unlike the way he'd looked at her when he'd come back for her at the school and saved her life again. "What do you want, Charlotte?" he asked quietly.

"I-I-" she stuttered, but he didn't actually wait for a reply, instead he turned and continued leading his horse to the well pump. Charlie followed with the other horse, grateful for the reprieve from answering a question she wasn't ready to fathom.

She didn't think she could handle the answer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this chapter would be less talky, more action. Bass and Charlie had different ideas. Angst alert. Action next chapter. Please let me know if you see glaring errors. Constructive criticism deeply appreciated.

They were on their way again after the worst heat of the day had passed. Connor had thought it might be a good idea to rest at the empty farmhouse for the night, since it had a viable source of fresh water, but Monroe was anxious to get back to Willoughby as soon as possible and didn't want to lose the remaining hours of daylight. It was still an endless source of frustration to him how slow travel was in the post blackout world. They managed to make a few more miles before dusk, when they made camp for the night.

Charlie had declined to ride in the wagon the rest of the afternoon. Instead, Michael switched with her; he and Duncan napped in the back of the wagon while Monroe drove and Connor rode shotgun. Sometimes Charlie rode next to them, chatting with Connor; sometimes she would ride ahead with the scouting party. Monroe found he didn't rest easy until she was back within his sight.

They set up camp near a river that evening in three separate groups, in the hopes of attracting less attention than one large group would. Once the horses were unhitched from the wagon and cared for, Charlie immediately disappeared among the surrounding trees with her bow. Fortunately, deer had grown plentiful in the fifteen years since the blackout. It wasn't thirty minutes before she gave a piercing whistle.

"Is that Charlie? Is she okay?" Conner asked, concern evident in his voice.

Bass nodded. "She's fine. Probably bagged a deer and needs help getting it back to camp." He started to mount one of the horses, but Connor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll go. Wouldn't want you to ruin Charlie's handiwork by tearing your stitches," he said with a lazy grin.

Bass's first instinct was to argue, but he realized Connor was probably right. No sense asking for trouble. Besides, she had studiously avoided talking to him the rest of the afternoon; she would be more likely to accept Connor's help than his. Before long Connor and Charlie came walking back into camp, the field-dressed doe thrown over the horse. Bass watched from afar as Charlie walked Connor through the steps of butchering the carcass. The boy looked a little green around the gills, which he found amusing.

"She's pretty handy to have around," Duncan commented as she stepped up beside him.

"Sometimes, when she's not being a pain in the ass," he replied with a small smile.

"I've a good mind to take her back with me when this is all over," she continued. "My tribe could use another hunter."

"No." The word tumbled out of his mouth before he even considered a reply. Duncan gave him a sidelong glance.

"She's not a kid anymore, Sebastian. Shouldn't that be her decision?" she asked

"I'm not kidding, Duncan. You can't have her. She belongs with her family."

"And does that family include you?"

Bass didn't say anything. He knew her family didn't include him, but that didn't stop him from thinking of her as part of his. That cold, inner reptilian part of him was coiled and angry, ready to strike out at the thought of Duncan taking Charlie back to the Plains Nation, where he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe.

Unless, of course, he followed them.

"She wouldn't be much use for anything but hunting," he said at last, in an attempt to change the subject. "If last night is anything to go by, her swordsmanship sucks. Miles should have trained her better."

"I'm sure Michael wouldn't mind giving her a few pointers," Duncan mused.

Bass rounded on Duncan, ready to give her an earful about just what he thought ofthat idea, but he saw she was teasing him.

"Fuck off, Duncan. You can't have her," he muttered. "And keep your boy-toy on a leash," he added gruffly for good measure.

"You might want to consider keeping a leash on your kid, too," Duncan said, nodding in Connor's direction. He was standing close to Charlie, but not enough to hamper her movements. It was more like he was pulled irresistibly by her gravity into orbit around her. Bass knew this because it was the same effect she had on him.

"It's a little too late for that," he said softly.

"Oh," Duncan said, her tone uncharacteristically sympathetic. "I didn't realize."

Bass shook himself. His inability to compartmentalize his feelings for Charlie bothered him far more than he was willing to admit, to Duncan or to himself. He remembered accusing Miles of going soft, and laughing about it. He wasn't laughing later that day at the school, when he'd tried to banish Charlie's accusing look from his thoughts after he'd barreled through the exit door, leaving her behind to face the Patriot soldiers alone. He hadn't been able to get fifty feet from the door before turning around to go back for her.

He wasn't laughing now, either. Neither was Duncan, as she eyed him knowingly, but he ignored her.

"Do you think any of the other tribes will be willing to consider an alliance against the Patriots?" he asked.

Duncan thought for a moment. "We're only a couple of days away from the southernmost tribe. I've cooperated with their leader a few times in the past. Hell, we even fought together against some of your militia."

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked sharply.

Duncan shook her head. "Not if these Patriots are as bad as you say they are. If they're planning on wiping us out anyway, we won't have any problems finding allies. It will just be a matter of proving you're the lesser of two evils," she said with a smirk.

_Wonderful._

~~~~~~~~~~

Once the deer had been butchered, Charlie left it up to the others to divvy up the meat among the three camps. She wandered down to the river to clean up after digging a cake of soap out of her pack in the wagon. Duncan joined her, and they took turns keeping watch while the other bathed. By the time they returned, Bass was already frying some of the meat. Charlie happily gorged herself on venison. Afterward she salted what hadn't been cooked and wrapped it securely in a piece of the deer hide; it would keep for the next day. Michael handled what little cleanup there was to do, and once that was done, there wasn't much else to do but sleep or keep watch.

Before long, Charlie and Monroe were the only ones left awake. Charlie propped herself up against a tree with her bow within easy reach. Monroe slowly paced around the perimeter of their camp. He made half a dozen laps before Charlie finally grew tired of it and tried to distract him.

"Do you really think we have a chance against the Patriots?" she asked quietly.

Monroe stopped pacing and walked slowly toward her, stopping in front of her booted feet, which were stretched out in front of her.

"I don't know. I hope so. I've never been a big fan of lost causes," he said with a wry smile.

"Ten men isn't going to be enough, is it?" she asked thoughtfully.

"No. But it's a start. Duncan's guys are well-trained. Maybe not militia-level, but they're good in a fight. Plus, Duncan has a solid reputation with most of the other tribes. If she's on board, a lot of them will come around." He started pacing again, this time in front of her, and Charlie could see he was moving stiffly, favoring the thigh Connor had sliced open.

"Sit down," she said, in her best I-mean-business-don't-argue voice. Monroe stopped in front of her with his head cocked to the side and a strange expression on his face. Then he smiled and shook his head.

"You sounded like Miles just then," he said, sounding impressed.

Charlie shrugged and gave him a faint grin. "I've noticed if you sound like you have authority people tend to assume you do and they do what you want them to. Sit down. I want to take a look at those gashes I sewed up last night."

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered himself to the ground next to her with a muffled groan. First she examined the wrist the doctor had splinted. She knew it was too soon for it to show the same dark streaks as Miles's broken hand, but she wanted to keep an eye on it all the same. Next Charlie unwound the bandage from his other arm and probed gently at the stitches. She did the same for the gash on his thigh. There hadn't been time to remove his trousers, she had instead resorted to slicing the cloth open further and then bound the wound over the material when she was finished.

"Looks good so far," she said, relieved. The skin at the gashes was reddened and tender, but not puffy. She searched in her pack for the salve the doctor had given her, scooped some up and began smoothing it across the gash in his thigh. Bass inhaled sharply and jerked as if she had burned him. Charlie snatched her hand back.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. It's cold," he groused. "And it stings a little; I just…wasn't expecting it."

Charlie made an impatient huff and continued applying the salve to his thigh and then his arm. "Don't be such a baby. Grandpa gave this to me; he said it's antibacterial. Hopefully it will keep the wounds from getting infected. All right, now turn around. I want to take a look at your back."

He dutifully turned around. Charlie waited a moment before she sighed.

"Take your shirt off," she said, flushing lightly.

"Charlotte, is this really necessary?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Yes. Do it," she insisted.

He grumbled, but he finally complied with her order, fumbling at the buttons with one hand. Charlie sucked in a breath when she saw the extent of the damage the metal bat had done. "I have some morphine the doctor sent if you need it," she said in a small voice.

Monroe shook his head. "No, thanks. I'd rather stay alert. Do you have anything else in that bag of tricks?"

"Just the salve," Charlie said doubtfully.

"Use that. It seems to help with the pain some," he said, testing the gash in his arm.

Charlie scooped out another dollop of salve and began stroking it over the angry-looking purple bruises across his back. At the first touch of her fingers, Monroe flinched again.

"I'm starting to think you're just ticklish," Charlie said drily.

"Maybe," he agreed, sounding strained. "Just hurry up, would you?"

"Okay, okay. I'm not actually trying to hurt you, you know."

Monroe nodded, and Charlie heard him grind his teeth together, his muscles tensing under her fingertips. She gently smoothed the salve over the wide, bruised stripes the bat had left, which were criss-crossed with the older whip marks.

"I'm really sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be," he said shortly. "You did what you had to do, Charlotte. And I've had worse. I'm just glad…." He trailed off, and Charlotte's hand stilled against his back.

"You're just glad…what?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray the way her heart was now thumping heavily in her chest, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"I'm glad I didn't have to hurt you, too." He turned and leaned toward her, reaching up to the bruise mark on her cheekbone where Gould's man had struck her, his fingers ghosting over the mark. He took the jar of salve from Charlie and dipped one finger into it, then gently smoothed a layer across her cheek.

"I wanted to gut him when he did this to you," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Charlie swallowed hard, unable to speak, unable to do anything but watch him, warily, swept along by the momentum of whatever was happening between them. Monroe's hand slipped around to rest on the nape of her neck. His thumb stroked her skin lightly, and Charlie shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms. His eyes darkened, and when he spoke again his voice was a faint rasp. "If I ever see him again, I'll kill him," he promised.

"I know," she whispered. When he tugged gently, pulling her face closer to his, she didn't resist. Instead, her fingertips reached up to his jawline, tracing along the scruff of his beard.

Several feet away, Connor turned in his sleep, facing them from the other side of the campfire.

Monroe froze, then he jerked back abruptly, snatching his hand away from Charlie's skin as if it had burned him. He rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, snatched up his shirt and thrust his arms back into it. When he finally spoke he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Thank you for the medicine, Charlotte," he said quietly, before striding off into the darkness alone.

Charlie just stared after him, at first stunned, then furious at being dismissed without a second glance. She chucked her medical supplies back into her pack, climbed to her feet and followed in the direction he had taken. He steps had left a trail that was easy enough to follow in the moonlight until she arrived at the river where he knelt, scrubbing his face with both hands. When he heard her approach, his shoulders stiffened, and she stopped in her tracks, still several feet away.

"Damn it, Charlotte, go back to camp," he said over his shoulder, his voice low and tense.

"I told you last night, I don't take orders from you," Charlie scoffed as she stood with her hands on her hips.

"You should," he growled, rounding on her. "You might live longer. Hell, I might live longer." He swept his wet hands through his hair, frustration evident on his face. "Why did you come back to New Vegas? You're lucky you didn't get yourself killed, or worse. Gould could have sold you to one of the brothels."

"Did you really expect me to just leave you there?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes!" he hissed, sounding surprised that she would even ask. "That's why I told you to go. Why the hell didn't you?"

"I don't know!" Charlie shouted. "Leaving you there never even crossed my mind!"

Monroe was quiet for a moment.

"I'm not worth risking your life, Charlotte," he finally said in a low voice, full of self-loathing. It made Charlie angry. She took a step closer, clenching her fists as if to keep from striking him.

"What about Connor?" she demanded, knowing that even if he didn't value his own life, he valued his son's. "Isn't he worth rescuing? Leaving you there would have meant leaving him, too. I did what I thought was right."

Monroe gave her a bleak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "So you came back for Connor."

"No," said Charlie vehemently. "I came back for both of you. I…need you. We need you. To help with the Patriots," she added, because it was the truth. It just wasn't the whole truth.

He stepped toward her until they were inches apart and fixed her on the spot withthat look, the one she couldn't fathom, the one that made her guts churn, that terrified her and left her uncomfortably aroused her at the same time. As she watched, his expression shifted into something different, something sad and resigned.

"All right," he said wearily. "Just tell me one thing, and I won't bother you anymore, Charlotte. Why Connor?"

Charlie knew he wasn't asking why she would rescue Connor. Instead, he was asking the one question she'd been hoping he'd never ask. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut to try and drive out the images from that night that had been looping in her head any time she allowed herself a quiet moment to think.

_The unspoken challenge in Duncan's eyes and smirk. Monroe's dismay when he realized Charlie had pulled a gun on Duncan. His dismissal of her, so he could "negotiate" with Duncan. Connor's puppy-like infatuation with her, and the way he looked after he came, as if he'd had some kind of fucking revelation. Monroe's exclamation of outrage when he found them together._

_The look on his face, and the sound of his voice, after. Disbelief? Disappointment? Hurt?_

"Answer me," he demanded softly.

She decided to give him the same answer she'd given Connor, and hoped he'd be content with that.

"He's cute, and I was bored. Girls have needs too," she said, shrugging in attempting to appear nonchalant. Monroe shot her a dubious look.

"Bullshit," he said roughly. "You had plenty of other options that night. I counted no less than a dozen men dying to get into your pants. Why did you choose him?"

"Why does it bother you so much?" Charlie protested angrily. "It was just a one-night stand."

"You were on my watch! If Miles and Rachel were to find out-"

"I was not on your watch; I'm an adult and I can take care of myself!" Charlie countered furiously. "And who's gonna tell them? You? 'Cause it sure as hell won't be me!"

Monroe set his teeth together and looked away from her. His fingers flexed impatiently, the tiny popping sounds made by his knuckles carrying in the silence.

"That's what I thought," she said knowingly. "Miles isn't the reason."

"I asked first. Why Connor?" Monroe bit out as his eyes snapped back to her face, fiery with steadily growing ire. "Out of all the men in New Vegas, why did you decide to screw my son?"

"Because I can't stand the way you look at me!" Charlie cried, unable to keep the words from spilling out.

He exhaled sharply as if she had punched him in the diaphragm, and the fire in his eyes dimmed to something cold and shuttered. "I see," he said in a voice devoid of emotion, turning away to face the river again, folding his arms across his chest.

"Monroe-" she began, but he interrupted.

"You don't have to explain," he said bitterly. "I'm not stupid. I get it."

"No, I don't think you do," Charlie argued, but he wouldn't let her get more than one sentence out at time.

"You hate it when I look at you. You can't be much clearer than that," he said in a wintry voice, his head slightly bowed. "Go back to camp, Charlotte," he added, sounding defeated. His back still turned, he began walking away, following the river bed.

"No, wait, Monroe?" He kept moving, so she tried another tactic. "Bass, please?" she called.

He halted immediately. "Don't-" he started, but this time Charlie was not going to let him derail her.

"God, would you just shut up and listen for a minute? I didn't say I hated the way you looked at me; I said I couldn't stand it!"

"What's the difference?" he demanded loudly as he wheeled around and took a step toward her with his arms spread wide.

"I can't stand it because I like it too much! That's the difference!" she said, her voice harsh and strident. "And that terrifies me, because I know I shouldn't! And I didn't know what to do about it!"

Bass sucked in a deep breath at her admission, "And Connor?" he rasped.

"I tried to think of something, anything I could do to make you stop looking at me the way you do. And the worst thing I could think of…."

"Was fucking my son," he finished in a flat tone.

Charlie couldn't reply, so she just stood there, mute, wondering how everything had become so fucked up. Bass was silent for a long moment, then he gave a harsh laugh.

"Jesus, Charlotte, I hope you're happy, because it worked. I can't look at you now without seeing…." He trailed off and turned his back on her, obviously reliving that moment he'd caught them in the field. "Go get some sleep," he said finally. "I'm on watch."

He left without looking back. Charlie's breathing hitched painfully, but she didn't understand why. This was what she had wanted. This was what was best. Logically, she knew that. Just the thought of her…with Monroe…it was insane. But watching him go, she felt like someone had reached into her chest to crush her heart into pulp, while at the same time they were slowly squeezing the air out of her lungs. She gasped heavily, trying to draw in enough breath to combat the feeling of suffocation.

She turned and took a couple of faltering steps back the way she had come, but her vision had blurred, so she braced herself against a nearby tree to keep from tripping. When she swiped at her eyes her fingers came away wet. She was just standing there, staring at them stupidly, when someone grabbed her arm in a painful grip and spun her around. Monroe was there, seething with anger and something else Charlie was afraid to name as she stared at him, half-terrified, half-exhilarated.

"God damn you, Charlie," he ground out. Then his hand dropped to her waist and he jerked her forward and claimed her mouth with his own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day....  
> Haha, no, I didn't really leave off there and not continue that scene. This picks up right where chapter 7 left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt writing anything remotely smutty (and this is pretty mild smut I think) so please be kind. Constructive criticism deeply appreciate. This fic is rated M for a reason. Bad language. Violence. Possible smut.

_Oh, God._

The spark of sheer lust Charlie had tried so hard to stamp into non-existence ever since she had first seen Monroe in New Vegas suddenly ignited into a ball of fiery heat that centered in her core and burned outward to the tips of her fingers and toes, even the roots of her hair. Her arms crept around his shoulders of their own volition, her hands sliding into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. Bass moaned into her mouth and pushed her back against the tree, following her body with his until they were flush against each other, treebark scraping at her back. Her mouth opened under his and his tongue swept in to stroke hers, hot and demanding and tasting faintly of spirits. Bass's fingers tightened momentarily at her hip, pulling her closer. His thumb caressed the strip of skin left bare between her tank top and the waistband of her jeans. Slowly his hand slid underneath her shirt up to the middle of her back, sending shivers along her spine and tightening her nipples to hard points against his chest. With his other hand he cradled the nape of her neck carefully so as not to jostle the splint on his arm, twining his fingers into her hair.

Charlie broke the kiss long enough to whisper, "Your arm, I don't want to-"

"I don't care about my fucking arm," he said breathlessly before sealing his lips to hers and plundering her mouth once more. His hand slid from the middle of her back over the curve of her buttocks and down to the back of her thigh, where he tugged gently so that she wrapped her leg around his waist. He leaned further into her, his hardened flesh pressing against her aching center. Charlie whimpered and tugged hard on his hair. He broke the kiss and began nipping at her jawline, then down her neck before suckling hard at a sensitive spot beneath her ear. His hand abandoned her thigh and wandered up to cup her breast, his thumb stroking lightly across her nipple before rolling it gently. She clawed at his back with her nails before she remembered the bruises there. He hissed, but she thought it was as much an expression of pleasure as it was pain. The ache at her center grew almost painful, so she dropped her hands to his waist and pulled him into her, grinding her hips to meet him as she did, seeking relief.

_"Fuck, Charlie,"_ he gasped and buried his face in the crook of her neck as his hand dropped from her breast and curled behind her backside, holding her against him as if he never wanted to let go.

They were both panting heavily. A small part of Charlie was glad for the reprieve; she knew her judgment was clouded by the haze of lust. She didn't want to do anything she would regret the next morning. She tilted her head back against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes, still clinging to him with the rest of her body. Once he had regained some composure, he lifted his face from her neck, and she felt him studying her. To her mortification, more hot tears slipped from under her closed eyelids to trail down her cheeks. She was glad when he didn't ask why; she didn't think she could explain. Instead he released his grasp on her neck and wiped them gently away with his thumb.

"Think you might ever want me enough to forget you hate me?" he asked quietly, in a voice laden with regret. Before Charlie could even consider a reply he continued, "Never mind, forget I asked."

He pulled away from her reluctantly, easing his hand away from the small of her back and pushing her thigh away from his waist so that her leg dropped. Charlie let her hands drop away from him too, curling her fingers into her palms before folding her arms across her breasts.

"I'm going for a walk," he said hoarsely. "You should go back to camp."

She nodded slowly, but didn't move; she wasn't capable of walking steadily on her own just yet. She felt him cup her face, and then he pressed one last bruising kiss against her lips before releasing her .

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She turned and walked back to camp alone.

_Thank God we didn't wake anyone else up arguing,_ she thought to herself as she spread out her bedroll next to the tree she had chosen earlier. The night air had cooled rapidly after the sun had set, so she retrieved her jacket from the wagon, jostling some of the supplies in the process. The weight in the pocket gave her pause until she realized it was her pistol. Then she grew still, unable to shake the feeling of wrongness that gave her chill-bumps. Nearby, Connor sat up groggily.

"Charlie? What are you doing?" he asked.

"I was cold. I needed my jacket," she answered as she slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up. Next she slung her crossbow over her shoulder, which caused Connor's eyes to widen.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded in a loud whisper. He glanced around the campsite once, then his eyes flew back to her, narrowing suspiciously. "Where's Bass?"

Charlie hoped she was imagining that his eyes lingered at her lips, which were likely still reddened and swollen.

"He said he was going for a walk," she said shortly. She drew the pistol out of her pocket and checked the ammo out of habit; then she tucked her hunting knife back into her belt, and slid another into her boot.

"By himself?" Connor asked skeptically.

"Yep," she said, with a short nod.

"And you let him?"

_It was either that or peel off our clothes and fuck like crazed weasels,_ she thought, scrambling for an answer that didn't sound defensive. When she didn't reply, he continued.

"And…now you're going after him?" At her second nod, he asked, "Why?"

"He doesn't have his swords," she said by way of explanation. "Gould took them." Connor's brow furrowed; it was plain to see he thought she was overreacting, and maybe she was, but she was going anyway.

"I'm sure he's okay," he said soothingly. "I doubt there's anyone around for miles. Besides, this is General Monroe we're talking about. The man who regularly fells a dozen men with one blow or some shit, right?"

"You know I've actually watched him and Miles do that," she said dryly, "but he wasn't injured, and it wasn't dark, and _he had his swords with him,"_ she said with an edge to her voice. She paused a moment and continued more softly, "I've got this bad feeling I can't shake. We need to find him."

Without another word Connor stood, grabbed his own weapons and said, "Let's go."

* * *

Bass followed the river mindlessly, deep in thought. The light of the moon painted the surrounding landscape an eerie silver, casting shadows under the trees and highlighting the dancing swirls of mist that rose from the surface of the water. He wasn't one to spook easily, but he wouldn't feel truly at ease until he had Charlie home safe with her family.

After several minutes, he realized walking wasn't getting the job done. _It's been too long since I got laid,_ he thought. _What I wouldn't give for a cold shower and a bottle of tequila._

He couldn't do much about the absence of tequila, but a quick dip would do in lieu of a shower. He stopped, stripped out of his clothing and dove into the river where it ran wide and lazily. The frigid water was a shock to his body, finally calming the raging lust that kissing Charlie had incited in him. When he began to shiver he got out and dressed hurriedly, anxious to get back to the fire, and to make sure Charlie had made it back to camp all right. He didn't think there was any reason to worry, but he had a funny feeling-

_Click._

And now he knew why, he realized, as the cool steel of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his neck.

"Jimmy. Nice to see you again. Or do you prefer Sebastian?" Gould's voice rang out behind him.

He raised his hands by his head and turned around slowly. One of Gould's men was now pointing a gun at his face, and Bass was pleased to see it was the same man that had put his hands on Charlie the previous night.

"You can just call me General," he answered, smiling coldly at Gould. He felt a small moment of satisfaction when the smirk on Gould's face dimmed a fraction.

"General of what?" he scoffed. "The Monroe Republic isn't much more than a smoldering pile of ashes in Philadelphia, thanks to you."

Bass flinched, and bitter rage coursed through him at the mention of the destruction of his city. The goon holding the gun on him pressed it closer and slowly walked around him until the gun was at the base of his neck once more. Several more of Gould's men stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees, each carrying a shotgun. He glanced around, calculating his odds of survival, which sank rapidly when he realized that Gould had his own swords hanging from his belt. If that wasn't bad enough, he hadn't bothered to arm himself before storming away from camp. _That girl will be the death of me someday,_ he thought, _maybe even tonight._

Gould noticed his gaze lingering on the swords at his side.

"You like?" he asked, patting the hilt of one proudly. "I couldn't resist keeping General Sebastian Monroe's swords for myself."

Bass clenched his jaw in frustration, realizing that lashing out might not be his best option, yet.

"What are you doing here, Gould?" he asked calmly. "I thought you'd be counting your money. Heard you made quite the haul last night. No hard feelings, right?"

Gould nodded good-naturedly. Bass could almost believe he was just here to catch up on old times, if he didn't know better.

"Sure, Jimmy. I knew you weren't really dead, but the crowd seemed to buy it. You and your kid and your little girlfriend put on quite the show," he said. Bass's blood suddenly froze, and Gould's smirk widened. "Yeah, that's right, I know who he is. And I would have been perfectly happy to let the three of you ride off into the sunset together."

"Except?" Bass said in a flat tone.

"Some guys in uniforms showed up early this morning, said they're with the United States," Gould explained. "They heard about the fight and wanted to know if it was really you. They're willing to pay good money for your head if I can keep it quiet. And that's not all."

He nodded to one of his goons, who produced a piece of paper. Bass expected it was either the bounty for Miles or Rachel, but he was wrong.

_It was for Charlie._

"You should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them that she was your lover," Gould said with a leer. "I bet they'd be willing to pay double what that piece of paper says. Where is she?"

Bass remained silent.

"Maybe you missed the part where all they want is your dead body. They're not paying as much for yours, and you did earn me a lot of money, Monroe," he said with his head cocked to one side in what would normally be a friendly manner. "You let me have her, I might see my way to letting you go, for old time's sake."

"That's not gonna happen," Bass said tonelessly.

In one smooth motion he ducked and turned, punching the goon behind him in the kidney so that he dropped like a stone; for good measure he drove his elbow into the man's shoulder and kicked him in the groin. The goon curled up on the ground moaning, out of commission for the time being. Bass reached down and snatched the gun out of his hands. Behind him were the sounds of a skirmish. He turned to find two more of Gould's men down with arrows through their chests. A third was bleeding out on the ground, his throat cut. Connor had Gould's neck bared with a knife to it while Charlie was busy removing the swords from his belt. She carried them to Bass and offered them to him, but he didn't take them.

"Now, Jimmy, let's not be hasty," Gould pleaded. "Like I said, I made a killing last night. I'd be willing to split it with you fifty-fifty."

"You're an idiot, Gould," Bass said to him off-hand. His focus was instead on the man who was now on one knee, struggling to stand up. The one who had touched Charlie. The one who had bruised her face.

"I told you I'd kill him if I saw him again," he said quietly, glancing over at her. She simply nodded.

Bass didn't hesitate. He circled around behind the man and leaned in close. "You were a dead man the moment you put your hands on her," he whispered as he wrapped his forearm under the goon's chin and braced the inside of his other arm against the side of his face. With a swift pull upward and a vicious twist, he snapped his neck and let the body fall forward. Then he turned his attention back to Gould.

"You said the guys in uniform told you to keep it quiet," he said, walking toward him, halting less than a foot away.

"Y-yeah. They don't want anyone to know you're still alive," Gould stammered, terrified.

"Of course they don't. They killed me, remember?" Bass said with a chilling smile. Even though Gould nodded, Bass could see he didn't understand. "Do you have any idea what you've done by advertising that fight?"

"W-what do you mean?" Gould was almost sobbing with fear now.

Bass just nodded at Connor. Moments later, Gould was on the ground too, making wet, gurgling noises as his blood poured out of the slash in his throat. Bass took his swords from Charlie, and they exchanged knowing glances.

"New Vegas isn't there anymore, is it?" she asked softly.

"No," he answered tersely, fastening the sword belt around his waist. Immediately he felt a little more like himself.

One by one, they dragged the bodies into the river. Bass watched silently as they drifted away. He didn't care who found them, and they didn't have time to weigh them down.

Charlie touched him lightly on the arm. "Are you ok?"

He nodded. "You heard about the bounty?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied, sounding confused. "Don't know what they want with me, though."

"It's enough that you're Miles's niece, Rachel's daughter," he said. "You can be used as leverage."

What he didn't say was that, thanks to their little show, the Patriots now knew she could be used as leverage against him, too. The group walked back to camp in silence, shocked at the turn of events. Connor lead the way, and Charlie followed. Monroe tailed behind her, not quite close enough to touch.

It was where he seemed to belong.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and co learn the fate of New Vegas and run into a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Charloe in this chapter, but at least it's finally done. More Charloe soon, I promise.

When they reached the campsite, Charlie woke Duncan and Michael to share Bass's suspicions about the fate of New Vegas with them. Duncan's face took on a grim look, but they all agreed it would be foolish to send a party back that night on so little sleep. They all slept fitfully, alternating watches, until Charlie gave up around dawn. She began gathering items she thought she would need and stuffing them into one of the saddle bags.

"'Morning," Duncan said softly.

"Morning," Charlie returned.

"I see your mind is made up," the older woman said with a faint smile.

"It makes sense," Charlie replied. "Bass can't go. You need to stay with him since we're riding through your tribe's territory. Unlike the rest of you, I got a full night's sleep the night before last. Can you spare someone you trust?"

"Take Sam and Michael," Duncan offered. "There's no one I trust more."

Charlie nodded and continued working in silence for a few minutes while Duncan woke Michael and sent him off to one of the other camps to retrieve Sam and one of the other men. Connor and Bass awakened shortly afterward and began making their own preparations. Recalling their heated moments by the river, Charlie determinedly ignored Bass as he approached Duncan and began a heated conversation with her. Moments later, she started when his hand caught her elbow, fingers digging firmly into her flesh to tug her around to face him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"I'm riding back to New Vegas," she replied flatly.

"Charlie, don't be stupid! You saw the bounty. What if they have hunters looking for you?" Bass retorted furiously. His grip on her elbow tightened as he tried to pull her away from the horse she was busy saddling. Charlie jerked it out of his grasp.

"I'm not afraid of any damn bounty hunter," she snapped. "Besides, if they have hunters out looking, they can find me anywhere." _Even if I'm with you,_ she thought. _Better for them to find one of us than both of us._

"Fine. If you're going I'm going," he said stubbornly. "We'll lose another day, and by the time we get back to Willoughby it will probably be a smoking hole in the ground, not that I give a damn."

Charlie gave him a withering look.

"Don't be ridiculous. You aren't up to riding all day yet. Take the wagon and keep going, we'll catch up in a day or two." Charlie walked around to the other side of her horse to finish checking her gear. He followed her.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked in a low voice.

 _Because I need a break from you,_ she thought, but she didn't know how to say that to him, especially not in front of everyone else. She needed some time to sort out her thoughts, time without Monroe watching her, making her feel like throwing caution to the wind just so she could feel something again. Kissing him had been the first time she'd felt anything besides numb since the rush of adrenaline she'd experienced when she'd spotted him in New Vegas months ago. She didn't think she could be rational about him when his constant physical presence plucked at her nerves like someone twanging the strings of a violin.

"One of us should go. Miles is going to want to a full report," she muttered.

"I can go," Connor piped up. That brought Charlie up short. She glanced at him and shook her head.

"No offense, but I think Miles would rather hear it from me," she said.

"Understandable, but I can still go with you," Connor said agreeably.

Charlie finished checking her saddle and turned on Connor with narrowed eyes. "I don't need a babysitter," she said. "I'm a big girl, remember? I can take care of myself."

Connor gave her the disarming grin that was so eerily like his father's.

"Hey, you won't get any argument from me. Can we just leave it at, I enjoy your company, please don't leave me with the old fogeys?" he said, winking at Duncan, who grinned at him in return. Charlie just rolled her eyes.

"You better be ready to go in ten minutes. I'm going for water," she said shortly, gathering the canteens from the wagon before she strode off alone.

"Perfect," Bass muttered. He rounded on Duncan, who had been watching the exchange with amusement. "Did you put her up to this?"

Duncan gave a low, husky laugh. "Sebastian, do you really think that girl would take orders from me?"

He had to admit she had a point. Charlie never did anything without arguing about it, unless it was something she wanted to do in the first place. _Then she talks in circles until she makes you think you came up with the idea and she's just going along with it for the sake of cooperation,_ he thought. He wondered if Miles had contemplated strangling her as many times on their journey as he had in just the couple of weeks he'd been traveling with her. He made a noise of frustration and started to follow her to persuade her to change her mind, but Duncan's voice stopped him.

"Michael and Sam will be with them, and another one of my best men, too. They'll be fine. She'll be fine. Michael won't let any harm come to her," Duncan teased knowingly.

Monroe's eyes blazed and his lips set into a thin line at the mention of Michael. It irked him to no end that Duncan saw through him so easily. He began throwing things into the wagon to work off some of his irritation, ignoring Connor outright when the boy didn't even bother to hide his own amusement as he saddled another horse. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Charlie returned with the water and Michael returned with Sam and another rider. Minutes later the scouting party mounted and made ready to leave.

"We should meet up with you by tomorrow evening," Michael said, leaning down to give Duncan a quick kiss.

"Be careful," Duncan replied. "Don't take any chances. If Monroe is right about these people…." she trailed off, appearing concerned. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"We'll ride near the river, there's plenty of cover there," Michael assured her. "We'll be alright."

Bass had climbed into the wagon to finish packing their gear. Now he waved Michael over before the small group could leave. When the horse was alongside, he grabbed the front of the younger man's jacket and yanked so that Michael's face was inches from his, his sword at the younger man's throat.

"If anything happens to them I will hold you personally responsible," Bass warned him. "If you aren't already dead, I will make you wish you were."

Michael swallowed hard, realizing for the first time that there was some truth to the legends of how Sebastian Monroe had single-handedly terrorized the eastern half of the continent. "I understand," he said.

Bass released him and glanced over at Connor.

"Don't do anything stupid to get yourself killed," he said to his son. Then he threw over his shoulder, "That goes for you too, Charlotte."

 _Back to Charlotte again,_ Charlie thought. He was angry with her, but she didn't have time to stick around to soothe his ruffled feathers. Within minutes they were on their way. Charlie turned back once, lifting her hand in farewell. Duncan and Bass stood together, watching as Charlie and the others rode away. Duncan waved once in reply.

Bass didn't wave, but Charlie felt his gaze on her until they rode out of sight.

* * *

They could see the smoke rising from the plain long before they reached the still smoldering remains of New Vegas. Charlie had never seen anything like it. Everywhere she looked were ashes and bodies. The smell of charred flesh made her gag. She barely dismounted in time to make it to a small clump of saplings to vomit. When she straightened, Connor was waiting nearby with the canteen he had retrieved from her horse. She accepted it gratefully and swished her mouth out several times.

"You ok?" he asked when she was finished.

She nodded, wondering how he and the others had managed to hold onto their stomachs. She hated looking weak, hated feeling like a little girl who wanted nothing more than to hide under her favorite blanket where the monsters couldn't get her. She hid it well these days, but every time she thought nothing could shock her anymore, she was abruptly proven wrong. She walked with him back to where their horses stood alongside Michael and Sam. Connor took in the devastation with a bleak look.

"Why would they do this?" he asked.

Charlie shook her head. She didn't understand it herself, other than to try and keep the secret that Sebastian Monroe had escaped the justice that the Patriots had planned for him. The only things left standing were the metal silos, and even some of those had obvious signs of charring. Charlie pointed to them. One by one they opened them to find the contents either missing or torched.

"Gould said that there were only a couple of men in Patriot uniforms. They couldn't have done this by themselves, they had to have help," Charlie said after they remounted and rode through the remains of the camp. It quickly became obvious that most of the bodies had been dead before the fire had been set. Some had limbs missing, others had their heads bashed in. A few had crossbow bolts in their chests.

"It must have been one of the other war clans," Michael replied. Sam nodded in agreement.

"I'd guess someone has moved into Andover territory and claimed it for their own. It looks like they went back the way they came," he added, pointing north toward a trail of trampled grass and earth that had been turned up by horses' hooves. "We should go. There's nothing else we can do here, and we need to check Duncan's camp site."

Charlie shuddered at the thought of leave the corpses behind unburied, but Sam was right. There were too many bodies, and she and her companions weren't equipped to do anything about them.

Michael led the way to the spot where Duncan's tribe had established a semi-permanent camp. Once again they were met with the burnt remnants of tents and wagons and blackened grass. Michael and Sam rode in opposite directions around the perimeter while Charlie and Connor dismounted nearby and waited together.

"Not as many bodies here," Connor observed.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed soberly. She didn't know if they should hope that Duncan's tribe had survived the slaughter, or if the lack of bodies at the camp just meant that they had responded en masse to the attack at New Vegas and died there. She could make out Michael and Sam's silhouettes on the far side of the camp in the little bit of daylight that remained. Sam was pointing south-east. Together they wheeled their horses around and rode back to Connor and Charlie at a brisk trot.

"Looks like maybe a group made it out and headed for one of the southern camps," Michael said. "We'll head that way in the morning."

They followed the trail south until it was dark enough that Charlie could no longer discern the plume of smoke still rising from New Vegas. When they found a suitable place near the river to make camp, she dismounted wearily and handed out some of the meager rations she had packed that morning. They ate silently as a group and finally settled down to try and catch a few hours of sleep. Michael volunteered for the first watch, but Charlie's mind was still filled with the images of the blackened bodies littering the ground, some contorted from excruciating pain in their last moments. After tossing and turning for thirty minutes, she gave up and went to sit next to Michael beside the fire. Nearby a couple of the horses nickered and snorted, but settled again momentarily. Without a knowing look, he offered her a silver flask. She took a deep pull and passed it back with a nod of thanks.

"That was was one of the worst things I've ever seen," he said, and Charlie could see the shudder of revulsion in his shoulders.

"Me too," she said, fighting the bile that rose in her throat as she realized the odor of burnt flesh clung to her clothes. "I hope you're right about the group that made it out."

 _And it may be selfish, but I hope it's more than just women and children,_ she thought to herself. _We need all the muscle we can get._

They passed the flask back and forth a couple more times and, as she began to relax, Charlie's thoughts drifted to Monroe and Duncan's group. She hoped they hadn't met with trouble from the Patriots and wondered if Duncan had set aside her antagonism in order to work with Monroe. Then she remembered how Monroe's voice had softened when he had spoken to Duncan in the casino tent, and her stomach began to churn again. Charlie decided a change of topic was in order.

"How did Duncan get to be tribe leader?" she asked. She couldn't help but be curious about the woman who had seemed to hate her upon sight but wound up working with her to free the man who had at one time been, unless Charlie's instincts were dead wrong, her lover.

Michael hesitated a moment before replying, "She killed the last leader."

Unable to tell if he was serious or not, Charlie replied, "You're joking," with a half-hearted smile. But Michael just shook his head.

"No. She really did," he said. "I wasn't there, but Sam was, you can ask him."

"And the rest of the tribe just followed her after that?" Charlie asked. She didn't understand why they wouldn't have just killed her outright. When Michael nodded, she asked, "Why?"

"The right of challenge is kind of the unwritten law out here. And Blackwell was bad news, for a lot of reasons. He kept a sort of harem. Duncan was one of his favorites."

Memories assaulted Charlie in a rush: a guard's rough hands sliding along her bare skin, delving into places no one should touch without her consent; the stench of whisky-soured breath in her face as a gang of men backed her against a wall; her legs collapsing beneath her as the drug stole her will and her strength. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her torso. Michael noticed the movement and frowned, but didn't make a move to touch her. Instead he passed her the flask. When she took a swallow and tried to pass it back, he waved her away.

"Keep it for now," he said. With a deep sigh he continued his story. "Duncan's little sister was one of his favorites, too. One night he beat her so badly, after he…well, you know. Anyway, he put her in a coma. Duncan killed him a couple of nights later. Blew his brains out with his own gun, and then did his guards, too."

Charlie took another swig from the flask, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol as it traveled into her stomach and slowly spread throughout the rest of her, numbing her toes and dimming the horror of her own memories. "What happened to her sister?" she asked.

Michael looked away, gazing pensively into the fire instead. "She died. Never came out of the coma. She would have been about your age. Duncan still has nightmares about it sometimes."

 _That explains a lot,_ Charlie thought. _Maybe I should apologize for shoving a gun in her face._

"How did you get to be a member of the tribe?" she asked

The pained expression on Michael's face eased into a faint smile. "I used to do the fight circuit myself. I was never as good as Monroe was, but I held my own, made enough money to keep myself fed and clothed, at least. I made a lot of money for Duncan. Guess she finally decided she liked what she saw enough to offer me a job," he finished with a suggestive grin.

Charlie didn't want to know exactly what his job requirements entailed, but she grinned in return, shaking her head as she closed her eyes. Slowly, she drifted off and slept lightly until Connor wakened her for her shift on watch. Three hours later, when the sky began to lighten, she roused the others so they could be on their way.

They pushed the horses as hard as they could that morning until they reached a small settlement. As the horses needed a rest period, Charlie suggested they stop and see what was available in the way of news and supplies. If the group they were following was part of Duncan's tribe, they would have passed the town at some point during the previous twenty-four hours. Sam agreed to stay with the horses while the rest of them split up, agreeing to meet back in an hour.

Charlie window-shopped for a while, asking questions here and there about groups of travelers, but no one had any information about Duncan's tribe. Finally she parted with a few of her precious diamonds in trade for some jerky and a packet of dried fruits as well as a few new bolts for her crossbow. She had lost a few over the past several months; her quiver was half empty. She smiled and thanked the seller and decided to walk over to the bar for a drink and listen for any news about the destruction of New Vegas. As she walked she carefully observed her surroundings, almost stopping in her tracks when she spied a familiar face across the street. She covered her blunder by turning to look into the window of the storefront beside her, where she could just make out his reflection in the shadows. He was talking to one of the townspeople, but Charlie couldn't believe his being here was a coincidence, not when she'd seen her own name on a bounty just two days before.

She continued to wander slowly under the awnings of the storefronts, pretending to peer into the windows of the shops she passed to keep an eye on the man's reflection. She was sure he was watching her now; he paused when she did, walked when she did. When she came to an alleyway, she ducked into it and ran to the back of the building, hiding around the corner. When he followed, she waited until his footsteps neared the corner. She then reached out and grabbed his shirt, hauling him against the side of the building so that his head hit the bricks with a thud as she shoved her pistol under his chin.

"Hello, Adam," she said in a tone that was more menacing than friendly. She was pleased by the flicker of fear that he couldn't quite manage to mask before he smiled in a charming manner.

"Jesus, Charlie, what the hell are you doing?" he said with a small laugh, raising his hands and swallowing hard as he glanced down toward the pistol.

"Funny, I was wondering the same thing about you. Why are you following me?" she demanded, twisting her fist in his shirt so that his collar tightened against his neck.

"What makes you think I was following you?" he protested.

Charlie rolled her eyes, not buying his innocent act for a second.

"How stupid do you think I am?" she asked, pressing the barrel of the pistol more firmly into his flesh. Adam dropped the guileless facade and looked irritated instead.

"Okay, I was following you." He lowered one of his hands and went for the front pocket of his jeans. Charlie shoved her hip against his hand to stop him.

"Don't," she warned, and he pulled his hand away, raising it into the air once more.

"Take it easy," he soothed. "I just wanted to show you something. There's a folded up piece of paper in there. Go on, take a look."

Charlie released her grip on his shirt and eased her fingers into his pocket, fishing around for the paper in question. When he smirked at her with one eyebrow raised, she sighed in disgust and stomped on his toe with the heel of her boot hard enough that he'd be limping for at least a day.

"Ow! Fuck, Charlie, that hurt!" he cried.

She ignored him as she continued searching his pocket. Finally she snagged the corner of the paper and drew it out, shaking it open with one hand. Her name was emblazoned across the top in all capital letters; it was the same bounty Gould had flaunted at Monroe, listing her as wanted alive by the U.S. Government for the reward of six ounces of diamonds. She wondered what she had done to the Patriots to warrant them placing her value equal with her mother, Miles, and Monroe.

"You gonna turn me in, Adam?" she asked with cold smile.

"Thought about it. After all, you and Monroe made off with all my gear and left me stranded in the middle of nowhere. Heard they finally killed the son of a bitch," he said with a satisfied grin.

"Oh, yeah," she answered. "I was there when they did it."

"Wish I could have been. Too bad they didn't hang him. Lethal injection is too easy," Adam said viciously.

Sometimes Charlie wished she _hadn't_ been there. That was the night that made her see him as something other than a killer, something other than a sociopath who happened to have a set of skills she and Miles could use. That night, Charlie had finally seen him as a human being, and she had been at war with herself ever since.

"You never said you lived under the Republic," she said thoughtfully. "What did Monroe ever do to you?"

"Me? Nothing, personally. I was in it for the money," he said. His eyes flitted away from hers momentarily, setting off every single one of Charlie's internal warning bells. Something about his answers didn't ring true.

"Trouble, Charlie?" another voice asked. Charlie turned to see Connor eyeing them with a puzzled expression, his hand curled around the hilt of his sword.

"Nothing I can't handle." She turned her focus back to Adam. "Connor, meet Adam. He's a bounty hunter."

"Friend of yours?" Connor asked with an insincere smile.

"You could say that," she quipped. " I met him a few months ago, while we were both hunting for Monroe."

Connor's smile melted away, replaced by a look of disbelief as he arched one eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he asked in a deceptively casual tone even as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "And you just happened to run into him?"

"Yep. Only now he has a bounty on me," she said, waving the creased paper at him.

Connor''s expression darkened as he took the page from Charlie and said, "Imagine that. These things are really getting around, aren't they?"

Charlie nodded. With her free hand she pretended to smooth away the wrinkles she had created in Adam's shirt by twisting it, even as she steadied her grip on her pistol. Adam smiled nervously as his eyes darted from Charlie to Connor and back again, calculating his next move. Charlie was enjoying playing with him, the way a cat toys with a mouse before grows bored enough to snap its neck.

"You know, it's funny running into you in this shit-hole little town," she mused aloud.

"Quite the coincidence," Connor added.

Adam's smile disappeared and his mouth tightened.

"You know what they say, it's a small world," he said darkly.

"It's not that small, and I don't believe in coincidences. How long have you been following us?" Charlie demanded.

"Long enough to know Monroe's first execution didn't take, and that he made you his whore before he died in that cage," Adam spat.

Charlie grabbed his shoulder and kneed him hard in the groin. When he doubled over in pain, she brought her knee up again, this time to his chin, slamming his head up and back against the brick wall behind him. She pressed the pistol against his heart. He groaned and spat blood onto the ground.

"New Vegas, then. Or did you follow us all the way from Willoughby?" When his eyes shifted away from her again, Charlie knew she had her answer. "You aren't just some random bounty hunter, are you? You're one of them."

Suddenly Adam brought his wrist up, catching her by surprise and knocking the pistol away. He lunged for her, but Connor caught him with a blow to the jaw, dropping him to the ground, where he placed his boot across his neck.

"I'd answer the lady, if I were you," he threatened, pressing down on Adam's throat. Charlie didn't wait for an answer.

"You've been handing those flyers out," she said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. She doubted he would confirm her suspicions. "What do they want me for?"

When he didn't answer immediately, Connor pressed his boot down harder against his neck, forcing Adam to turn his face toward Charlie. She watched dispassionately, her pistol aimed at his torso.

"Answer her," Connor growled, "before I crush your windpipe."

"The burning of New Vegas," Adam finally rasped, spraying specks of bloody spittle. "And I'm not the only one. Riders were sent in all directions with those things. There's nowhere you can run, Charlie. Soon everyone will be out for your blood."

Connor glanced at Charlie, shocked by the accusation, but Charlie wasn't surprised. Who else would they have blamed? Not Monroe, because he was supposed to be dead, and she didn't think they knew Connor's connection to him, yet. Of course they blamed her. It made sense, given Adam's own assumption that she was Monroe's whore.

"What do you want to do, Charlie?" Connor asked in a low voice.

 _Funny_ , she thought. _Bass wouldn't have bothered asking. He would have run Adam through already._ She had no idea how she felt about that, and she didn't have time to process it. She didn't want to shoot him; that would make too much noise and be sure to attract attention. But the alley was secluded enough; there didn't seem to be any witnesses. She couldn't have him following them.

"Give me your sword," she said to Connor in a voice that was devoid of all expression.

"Charlie, I can-" he began, but she cut him off.

"I said, _give me your sword_."

Connor drew his sword and handed it to her with no further argument.

"You can't beat them," Adam said with crazed grin up at her. "You've already lost."

"I know," Charlie said.

And then she plunged the sword into his heart.


End file.
